


Fumbling In The Dark

by Grand Buzz (quodpersortem)



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Bottom Louis, Canon Compliant, Coming Out, First Time, Fluff, Harry is 17 at the start, M/M, Minor Zayn Malik/Liam Payne, Underage Harry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-16
Updated: 2015-11-16
Packaged: 2018-05-01 23:52:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5225942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quodpersortem/pseuds/Grand%20Buzz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis is straight, Harry is not. They still shag a lot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fumbling In The Dark

**Author's Note:**

> Whew, the longest 1D fic I've written so far! 
> 
> I'd like to thank [moderncouchpotato](http://moderncouchpotato.tumblr.com/) for the unwavering support regardless of there being plenty of smut. I am sorry for that. (No I'm not) ((But it's true that it's mostly smut. Almost only smut... Sorry, ace community, you might want to skip out on this one)).
> 
> The title comes from the Libertines song [You're My Waterloo](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=f-e7VWvtvRQ).
> 
> I hope you'll enjoy the fic!!
> 
> EDIT 20/07/17: OH MY GOD. GUYS, EVERYONE WHO HAS RECCED THIS FIC, READ OR BOOKMARKED IT AND/OR LEFT KUDOS ON THIS FIC, ALL OF YOU--YOU ARE FANTASTIC. I love you so much! Thank you for giving me my first 1000 kudo fic, you're wonderful. <3

It’s six months after the X-Factor ends when Harry comes out.

The five of them have gathered in Harry and Louis’ living room. The menu tune of the DVD is playing on a loop again and again as Harry stands in front of them, looking around and fumbling a little with the remote control.

 “I just—I hope you’re okay with it,” he shrugs almost right after, looking distinctly embarrassed, and all of them nod, Louis included. Of course. He’d be an arse if he didn’t, and although he definitely is a right twat at times, he also knows when _not_ to be.

So instead of blurting out a sarcastic quip like he wants to (Louis is bad with tension, alright), he rubs his hand up and down Harry’s shoulder.

He feels a bit odd about Harry not telling him in private first, but even so he says, “We’ll always be here for you, Haz, no matter if you come home with a girlfriend or a boyfriend or an alien. Might have to soundproof the walls, though.”

Harry smiles up at him, and Louis smirks back. The walls of the place they share are almost soundproof anyway—he knows, he’s asked Harry once after he took home a girl who was particularly enthusiastic. He has never heard Harry either, at night.

Harry probably knows that Louis meant it as a joke anyway. Louis doesn’t care if the moans he hears are from Harry and a lass or from Harry and a lad. They’ve shared enough close quarters to have caught each other anyway, so even that’s not too awkward anymore.

The other boys all get up one by one to hug Harry before they settle back in and put Iron Man on play. Louis makes sure to stay close to Harry all night, touching him like he would normally just to assure his best mate that it’s okay, it’s fine, he’s not going to act any different because of Harry’s sexuality.

-

Who is he kidding though?

Louis, of course, is _dying_ to ask Harry some questions.

When he casually mentions to Zayn that he’s wondering about Harry’s relationships with men, Zayn stares him down with his definitely-improved death glare. Louis is almost taken aback. _Almost_.

“You can’t ask him that, Louis,” he says, far more stern than Louis had expected.

“Why not?” Louis looks at him, a bit surprised. “Do you reckon he’s never kissed a bloke, then?”

“Somehow I don’t think you’d stop at that,” Zayn replies, and that’s not really a proper answer is it? Louis figures he can push this a little. He doesn’t like it when people tell him not to do something.

“Maybe I wouldn’t, but Harry can say for himself when he doesn’t want to answer. I’ve talked to him about all the lasses he’s slept with as well.” Louis isn’t quite sure which kind of answer from Harry he is hoping for, although Harry having kissed a lad—

Zayn just snorts, picking up his fags and getting up from his chair. “I’m just sayin’, if he gets cross with you, it’s your own fault.”

Louis raises his eyebrows and shrugs. He’s not easily deterred by what others tell him to do or not to do, and on top of that, Harry’s never been offended by anything that Louis has done to him before.

“And I’m just saying, with the way you look at Liam sometimes I wonder if you’re not curious yourself about the inner mechanics of gay sex.”

Zayn snorts and shoves at Louis’ legs. “Not really, no. It’s all on Wikipedia, besides, that. Or in porn.”

“I do what I want anyway,” Louis yells after him when Zayn goes out to the secluded area next to the bins for a smoke.

-

Louis was not lying about not being stopped by anyone, and nothing Zayn said keeps him from blurting out, “So, I’m guessing you’ve never actually kissed a lad before?”

They’re on the couch, just the two of them, with one of Harry’s boring documentaries on the telly while Louis is playing games on his iPad.

“Bloody hell, Lou, what makes you ask that?” Harry’s voice is shrill, his eyes wide.  

Louis shrugs, grinning at him a little awkwardly because now he’s not sure if he should push the matter but his curiosity still has the upper hand. “Well, Curly, I’ve only ever heard you brag about your female conquests before.”

“Kind of hard to brag about the male ones when I wasn’t out yet, isn’t it?” Harry squirms a little where he’s sat, but after a moment he’s edging closer to Louis to on the couch. It’s as though Harry wants to be closer, like he needs Louis there to comfort him even if Louis is the one making him feel uncomfortable in the first place.

It makes Louis feel vaguely awkward, a tad ashamed of what he just said. So he does what he always does—he keeps up the game, albeit with a hand around Harry’s shoulders. 

 “So I’ll just have to take your word for it?” Louis says. Next, he needs to bite down on the inside of his cheek to keep himself from laughing at the good-natured pout Harry puts on display. “I don’t believe you,” he continues, and he can feel himself starting to smile.

He doesn’t really understand what’s happening next until Harry’s lips are already pressed against his own and, within a second, gone again as well.

“I’ve _definitely_ kissed a boy before,” Harry whispers in his ear, and then he’s back in his own place on the couch, smiling, his cheeks turning pink as Louis looks at him, momentarily struck by shock.

“That’s hardly even a real kiss,” he finally manages, his voice still a little rough on the edges and comically high as he forces the words out. It makes Louis feel weird, that Harry kissed him on his mouth, even if they’ve kissed each other on the cheek plenty of times before. This isn’t that different, is it?

“Oh,” Harry raises his eyebrows. “Is this a challenge now?”

Louis shrugs because he’s not sure, but Harry’s staring at him like it is and Louis doesn’t back down from challenges, ever. Besides, Louis is secure enough in his own heterosexuality to kiss another lad and not get upset, thanks. Louis is a lot of things, but he’s not a homophobe.

“It is,” Harry continues, a little quieter as he shuffles even closer to Louis, pressed together side by side. “Isn’t it?”

“Yeah, ‘s a bloody challenge alright,” Louis murmurs, his gaze dipping down to Harry’s lips, catching the flicker of Harry’s pink tongue. It’s been a while since he’s kissed Hannah—he hasn’t been with anyone else in months, now, his life too busy and he’s not exactly _averse_ to some intimacy. Even if that intimacy means kissing Harry. Louis is pretty sure that all five of them have thought about snogging one another, anyway.

“So we’re gonna do this?”

They’re so close that Louis can feel Harry’s breath on his mouth as he talks, their lips close to brushing. He nods his consent, and the click in his ears when he swallows is so loud that he wonders if Harry can hear it. He can’t, obviously, and then Harry is stroking Louis’ fringe back with warm, gentle fingers.

Harry is the one who closes the last bit of distance, his lips pressing softly against Louis’ own. He’s gentle, sliding his hand down to Louis’ neck, his thumb pressed to the soft skin under his ear that makes him shiver. It doesn’t take long before Harry coaxes open Louis’ mouth with his lips, nipping at them.

 Louis complies, opening his mouth just a little and then Harry’s sliding his tongue against Louis’ own.

He tastes like the overly sugary tea he had earlier, and a little like the minty chewing gum Louis saw him get rid of before that. His movements are tender but sure, his tongue right in the places where Louis wants it but only teasingly so, leaving him to chase the kiss back into Harry’s mouth for _more_.

Their breathing speed up a little and of course Harry is a good kisser, not that Louis had expected anything else. The little flicks of his tongue are enough to keep things exciting even if they’re moving slow enough that Louis would normally be growing bored by now.

When they break apart, he does say, “Didn’t think you were quite this well practised, Harold.”

Harry shrugs, not nearly as breathless as Louis feels. “You also didn’t believe me when I said I’d kissed a boy before, but now you’ve got to believe me on both accounts.”

He smiles and easily goes back to watch the telly again, even if Louis’ tummy now feels like it’s got bugs crawling inside of it like the insects in Harry’s documentary.

-

Harry keeps acting all... normal, almost as though nothing even happened. Definitely as if it did not affect him in any way whatsoever, even right after it happened. Especially now, though.

Louis isn’t sure why he’s surprised about that, honestly. He knows enough about different sexualities to be aware that not every man who’s into blokes will be attracted to him, and he is accepting enough that even if someone male were to fancy him he wouldn’t think of it as particularly offensive, but...

But somehow he keeps expecting something to change between them. That their friendship might grow more tense, or awkward, or _something_.

It doesn’t help that he’s a little too embarrassed to tell Zayn, a strange and suffocating feeling rising inside of his belly and tightening up his stomach and lungs any time he even dares thinking about it.

It’s a bit scary, honestly. His life is absolutely crazy; their first album is mostly done and they’re getting ready for their own tour—not a tour with the X-Factor, their _own_.

And yet, out of everything, snogging another lad is the most surprising.

The most confusing, he supposes, is that the kiss replays itself again and again in his mind when he’s tired or he’s trying to sleep.

He can’t tell Harry that, of course. It didn’t make things weird between them, but Louis might make things awkward if he mentions it. Harry probably doesn’t want to talk about it, or he would have.

Having to keep in all of his thoughts makes Louis feel antsy to the point that he sometimes feels like he’s crawling out of his skin. He likes to talk things through when he can’t get them off his mind, and he’s pretty sure that Zayn’s onto him anyway because he’s asked Louis if he was okay.

He easily dismisses it as missing his family, though, and Zayn just smiles at Louis, gives him a hug, and tells him, “I’m here if you need me.”

Louis wonders if Zayn would count this as Louis’ own fault. Somehow he thinks yes.

-

They’re on the bus when he tickles Harry awake. When he’s opening his eyes, clearly still feeling groggy, Louis puts his hand on Harry’s thigh and whispers in his ear, “So, you’ve kissed lads, yeah. But have you ever done more?”

It’s not a question rolling off his tongue like it did last time.

In fact, Louis has been thinking on whether he should ask Harry for more information at all, because it’s still making him feel a bit weird. He’s figured that it’s because he’s kissed Harry and enjoyed it (and the little _I kissed a boy and I liked it_ that repeats itself in his head at night, set neatly to Katy Perry’s tune, can piss right off).

So, okay, Louis worries a bit more about himself than about Harry being offended, because maybe the questions are setting off some unwanted thoughts in his own mind.

He prefers to think of it as _being a little too curious as usual, Tommo_. And with that thought, more questions are absolutely the way to go.

(It’s honestly too easy to convince himself to do something he’ll regret later on.)

Harry only turns a _little_ pink at that as he glares at Louis. He’s licking his lips, dry and a little chapped from breathing through his mouth as he slept. Louis forces his eyes back up to meet Harry’s eyes.

“Yeah,” he says, nodding slowly. “Why did you wake me up for that?”

“Wanted to know,” Louis states. He suddenly wonders what Harry’s mouth would look like wrapped around his cock, Harry whispering, _I’d love to make you come,_ Louis’ come all over Harry’s face. _Fuck_.

He scolds himself for the thought immediately, biting the inside of his cheek as he forces the images from his mind.

Harry just closes his eyes and smiles as he shakes his head. “Have you ever watched the other lads during the showers after footie, then? Compared your cocks to see who was bigger, like the tossers you were?”

“C’mon,” Louis whines, embarrassed that it’s brought up and that he doesn’t have an answer. “That’s not like what I was asking at all.”

Harry snorts, curling his fingers around Louis’ hip, pulling him closer. “I know, babe. But please shut up and have a kip while you still can.”

Louis doesn’t intend to, but he falls asleep resting his head on Harry’s shoulder.

-

Harry’s question about whether he’s ever checked out another lad stays on Louis’ mind, after that morning.

He can’t particularly think of an instance where he watched one of the lads after footie practise, but his mind immediately supplies that _they weren’t that attractive_.

He’s not sure what to make of that, or rather, not sure if he wants to make that into anything.

Yet at the same time, he’s well aware that there were indeed a couple of guilty instances where he had a toss looking at his David Beckham posters. Although back then he’d easily dismissed it as the poster simply being there and his hand being attached to his cock at a minimum of three times a day, it now makes him wonder if there was more to it.

When they watch _Transformers_ later, he’s glad that he can at least conclude that Megan Fox is infinitely more interesting to watch than Shia LaBeouf.

Harry’s staring at him more than usual though. It makes Louis feel a little strange, so he deliberately ignores his best mate and tries to focus on the film instead.

-

 “What’s going on between you and Harry, then?” Zayn finally asks him when Louis is lounging on a couch in the green room, trying to get some sleep.

 Louis genuinely doesn’t want to talk about it right now. Maybe not ever. Not when he can’t figure out what it is himself.

“Out of everyone,” he tells Zayn, “you should be the one person who understands best how annoying it is when your friends disturb you in the process of falling asleep.”

Zayn shrugs. “This seemed more important, yeah? Something’s changed between you.”  Louis raises his eyebrows and Zayn sighs as he shoves at Louis’ legs and squeezes onto the couch as well. “You’re different around him, he’s different around you. I wondered if something was up.”

“Nah,” Louis lies, remembering all too well how Harry looked after he’d snogged him. He wishes the thought would _leave_.

“You did ask him about sex with blokes, didn’t you?” Zayn’s eyes narrow, and Louis sits up.

“So what if I did?”

He spots the disappointment in Zayn right away.

“Listen,” Louis continues, even if there’s no need to defend himself really. “I wanted to ask him, so I did. Harry knows that, and he’s not cross or upset or anything. He’s just told me that he’s been with some lads, okay?”

“Okay,” Zayn nods slowly. “Just be careful with him, yeah?”

Louis nods, even if Zayn’s serious look makes him feel a little uncomfortable. It was just a cheeky snog between mates, nothing more. It _happens_.

“And with yourself too, okay?”

He pretends to not hear what Zayn says as he shoves him off the couch and tells him, “Let me kip, yeah?”

The idea that Zayn might have an idea about what’s up (because Louis can’t think of another reason why he’d tell Louis to be careful) keeps him awake long after he closes his eyes.

-

Louis has been in Harry’s room for what feels like hours, trying to chase boredom away by watching daytime telly. Right now, he’s watching an episode of _Antiques Roadshow_ that he’s sure he’s seen before because Harry keeps it on at all times.

“Oooh,” Harry cheers as he comes into the room stark naked. “My favourite show!”

“No it’s not,” Louis snorts. “ _Bake Off_ is, remember?”

Harry shrugs as he lets himself fall down on the bed next to Louis. Louis watches his cock flop around limply, though Harry doesn’t seem to notice. “Still a lovely show. This is the one where they find a clock—“

“I honestly couldn’t care less,” Louis interrupts loudly, tearing his eyes away from Harry’s whole—being naked thing. He doesn’t necessarily _want_ to be rude by not letting Harry finish, but he also doesn’t want to hear Harry about the show.

He does want to hear Harry though, and suddenly—suddenly Louis can’t stop himself. It’s becoming the theme of his life, bless his impulsiveness. “Actually, tell me what good things you’ve put your cock to.  Or into. I meant boys of course, not pies.”

 “Louis, not again,” Harry groans as he rolls onto his back. Louis sits up to stare at him, blocking Harry’s view of the telly too.

“Was it handjobs?” Louis asks, gesturing a wanking motion with his hand right in front of Harry’s cock. It’s a bit crude, but Louis loves shocking people a little and it helps to push away that bloody _awful_ feeling in his tummy that comes with thinking of Harry and blokes.

When Harry doesn’t reply he presses on, dead curious. “Blowjobs?” When Harry’s still showing no sign of responding, he gasps theatrically even. “ _No_ , Haz! You had actual bumsex?” The idea of Harry bent over for someone—or, shit, someone sat in Harry’s lap—Louis reckons a girl would have trouble fitting all of Harry in so he doesn’t want to know how difficult it’d be up the other hole.

“No!” Harry finally squeaks, pushing away Louis’ hand (which, bloody hell, he’d accidentally left resting on Harry’s still very naked thigh). “I didn’t go that far, all right?”

“So, which one was it?” Louis waggles his eyebrows, raising the bar and simultaneously hoping that it’ll distract Harry from the flush on his cheeks and the strange tightness in his chest. He’s not even sure _why_ he wants to know so desperately, beyond the general reasoning that Harry knows about everything Louis has done with girls so it’s fair that he knows about everything Harry’s done.

Harry groans as he relaxes back against the headboard. “Hand and blowjobs, okay? We fooled around for a little while.”

“You had a _boyfriend_ ,” Louis says quietly.

The tightness in his chest grows and it’s just. It’s _weird_ , the idea that Harry dated someone... From all the stories that Harry told him, he’d figured that Harry just snogged a couple of lads, maybe landed them in his bed, not something more significant than that.

“Fooling around doesn’t necessarily mean you’re dating, you should know that,” Harry argues, and although he does have a point, now that he’s thinking about it, Louis can’t really imagine Harry having meaningless sex.

“You had a boyfriend,” Louis repeats, gently slapping at Harry’s arm as he smiles away his discomfort. “Harry Styles, you _slag_.” He’s not sure why the pressure on his chest isn’t easing, constricting his breathing while he tries to feel happy that at least Harry got to experience that before he got famous.

“Guess it’s true what the magazines say, hm?” Harry simply shrugs, and Louis smiles sadly. It’s not true. Not at all.

He pets Harry’s hair for a while after that, getting his fingers tangled up in the curls. Harry seems pretty pleased with Louis’ gentle touches, face relaxed as he turns his head so Louis can scratch gently behind his ears.

“It really was just that,” Harry says quietly, after a little while. “I just thought he was pretty,” and with a smile that makes Louis’ insides flutter wildly, “just like you.”

Louis bites down on his tongue the moment he gets the urge to lean down and press a kiss against Harry’s lips, because he shouldn’t. That absolutely can’t be something he _wants_. They’re best friends, and Harry is a boy and it must just be Louis being really quite knackered and missing home a bit.

They sleep in the same bed that night, Harry all but begging Louis to _please spoon me, Lou, please?_

And while Louis is great at saying no in general, with Harry it never quite works out that way.

-

Louis is drunk.

He’s very, very drunk and hanging off Harry on their hotel bed, whispering in his ear. Harry keeps giggling and trying to push him off, but his pushes are weak and Louis is _so comfortable_.

It’s so easy to bury his head in Harry’s neck when he laughs, his entire face warm from the alcohol and proximity to Harry. The other boys are with them, Zayn and Niall equally drunk and trying to navigate their way through Mario Kart while Liam looks happy and relaxed but decidedly sober. Louis thinks he’s happy because he’s winning all the games.

“I think ‘m gonna vom,” Zayn mumbles after a while, digging the palms of his hands into his eyes. Although Liam snorts and Louis wonders if Zayn’s not just using it as an excuse to get to bed, Liam gets up and pulls Zayn up with him.

“I’m gonna put this lad to bed,” he tells them.

“I’m coming with ya,” Niall groans as he gets up from his spot on the floor and stretches his body. “Need to sleep.”

“Sleep,” Harry giggles into Louis’ ear, “is for the weak.”

Niall flips them the finger and pulls the door shut behind himself rather forcefully. Louis thinks he can hear him fall down in the hallway.

“What’s for us then? If we’re too strong to give in to sleep?” Louis asks, still snickering a little from imagining Niall falling.

Harry doesn’t reply right away so Louis gently tickles him until Harry grabs his wrists in one hand and keeps them aside. Louis is too buzzed to really fight back so instead he just smiles at Harry.

“Kissing,” Harry decides, still looking at Louis, his gaze flickering down to Louis’ mouth as he wets his lips. “We could kiss for a bit?”

“Maybe,” Louis hiccups, too drunk to think about it properly, too drunk to realise that this is a bad idea because he can’t forget about the last time.

Then Harry leans in and Louis gives in easier than he did the last time, the worries gone in the haze of the alcohol and Harry. The moment Harry lets go of his wrists, he wraps them around Harry’s shoulders to keep him close.

Kissing Harry feels absolutely lovely. He tastes like something wonderful that Louis can’t quite pinpoint, and Harry is proper _skilled_ , knows how to use his tongue and how to grab Louis’ bum to make him moan and shiver. Louis does love him very, _very_ much.

He sucks on Harry’s tongue, because Harry lets him Louis is a bit besotted with the way it makes him moan so prettily. It fuels the haze implemented by the alcohol, enriches it until Louis feels a bit light headed, like he’s floating.

Then he plunges his finger into Harry’s ear, because suddenly there’s fear in his stomach. It feels like the situation is getting away from him, growing beyond his control, and it seems like the best course of action. Clearly it’s not because Harry laughs and breaks the kiss, and then refuses to let Louis kiss him again by telling him they need to go sleep.

Louis crawls into the cold spare bed, because his body is still too hot to sleep with Harry.

And maybe he’s scared that the ocean of booze in his stomach will make him vomit, which he refuses to do all over Harry.

-

“Listen,” Paul says from the front of the van, before starting to read up the list of what they can and can’t say on air.

Louis isn’t listening—he’s heard the speech before. The scenery passing by the window and the steady rumble of the van’s engine are slowly lulling him to sleep. He’s cuddled up against Harry, Harry’s arm slung around his shoulders.

Zayn’s looking at him a little weirdly, but Louis ignores it and closes his tired eyes. Last night is something he tries not to think about too hard, because nothing has changed, even if the memory of Harry’s kiss-swollen lips keeps popping up.

Harry’s thumb is rubbing against his shoulder and it feels nice enough that he presses in a little closer, wrapping his arm around Harry’s waist.

He resists the temptation to kiss the soft skin of Harry’s neck because he knows it’ll lead to Zayn asking questions Louis doesn’t have an answer to. Yet Louis wants to do it so desperately, enough that when they get inside the radio building he tells Harry he needs to tell him something in private.

Louis takes deep breaths through his nose to calm down as he guides Harry into the building, trying to keep calm. _It means nothing,_ he tells himself. _I just miss me mum and need a distraction._

“What’s going on, Lou?” Harry looks a little worried, and when Louis pulls him into a loo he immediately asks, “Are you all right, what-“ before Louis cuts him off with a kiss, eyes squeezed shut as his fingers find Harry’s hair. It’s so much easier not to think a whirlwind of thoughts when he’s kissing Harry and Harry’s kissing back, the awful feeling that kept Louis from breathing all morning finally easing up a little.

Harry sighs into it, kissing Louis back with gentle lips until he breaks apart. “You wanted to talk to me?”

“That was all I had to say,” Louis tells him, even though there are a million more questions he doesn’t know how to voice, doesn’t _dare_ to ask Harry quite yet. He knows his cheeks are a little flushed, his insides twirling themselves into knots—he’s probably just anxious that someone might come in and see them.

“I see,” Harry nods, the corner of his mouth twitching up with a smile that Harry suppresses.

“Yeah,” Louis tells him. “Let’s go now, though. They’re probably waiting for us.”

Harry just shakes his head and lets Louis lead the way.

-

The questions keep nagging Louis in the following weeks, and as a result, he keeps nagging Harry.

He’s well aware that he’s been increasingly annoying, pulling at Harry’s curls and putting his feet in Harry’s lap while demanding a massage, but honestly, anything’s better than Harry finding out that Louis keeps thinking about kissing him, that he woke up the other night with a mess in his pants and feeling sick at the idea of having a wet dream about his best mate sucking cock.

Louis doesn’t know what all of it means, and the narking keeps him up so that he’s tired and in a rotten mood most of the time. He’s too afraid to talk to Zayn about it, because Louis isn’t gay, but Zayn might think he is, so he avoids looking at Zayn while he drags Harry’s arm back over his shoulders and huddles in a little closer.

The thoughts aren’t as insistent when he’s touching Harry, and Louis doesn’t like it when he feels like he’s going out of his mind. It just makes him more hyper, and do more things that he regrets afterwards.

It’s on a night they get to spend at home, both of them snuggled up in Louis’ bed with cups of tea and a black and white film on the telly, that Louis asks again. He’s resting his head on Harry’s shoulder and he’s determined to not make it awkward this time around. He wants to know, though, and the exhaustion makes it easy for Louis to give in to his curiosity again.

“What was it like?”

“What are you talking about?” Harry’s sipping at his tea and staring at the screen, and that won’t do, will it? Louis pulls on his curls gently until Harry’s facing him.

“What’s it like, giving a bloke a, y’know, a blowie?”

Harry’s eyebrows rise, but Louis doesn’t think he looks too shocked or taken aback. It’s a good thing, genuinely, because Louis is a twat for asking.  He almost hopes that Harry doesn’t respond verbally at all because Louis shouldn’t get a reply to that question in the first place.

Which is why he doesn’t expect the answer he gets, less so even than he’d expected the kiss.

“You want to know what it’s like to suck cock, hm?” Harry drawls, voice dropping low. Louis nods, even if it has him growing flustered because now he’s definitely thinking about Harry sucking _his_ cock. He shouldn’t be doing this. “What it’s like—“ and Harry’s leaning close to him, whispering in his ear, and then his _hand_ is on Louis’ _thigh_ so close that it’s almost brushing his cock and maybe it’s still a game but Louis’ dick twitches and his heart won’t listen, “to kneel between a guy’s legs and see him, all hard for you, and suck at the tip?”

Louis croaks out a timid, “Harry, _please_ ,” when Harry’s silent for a moment.

“It’s—the skin’s much softer than you’d imagine,” Harry says as he sits back again. Louis is still feeling too hot but he can breathe a little better without Harry so close to him. “Kind of silky.” He’s lost in thought, the flickering of the screen the only thing that illuminates his features as he stares up at the ceiling. “It’s—like with a girl, you know it’s good when she’s moaning and squeezing your head between her thighs, right? Maybe pulling at your hair a little. But with a guy you can actually _taste_ it. Like, I don’t mean—girls get wet but with guys, you taste the precome. All bitter, pulsing when he’s really into it? Better than a girl’s... And when his cock twitches against your tongue you feel it too. I don’t know, it’s really hot, the skin, like—“

Louis is sure Harry hears his shivery intake of breath, not in the least because Harry’s looking at him wide-eyed. _God_ , Louis is so hard. Harry’s gaze fall down to his groin when he shifts, his eyes dark.

He expects it this time. He is well aware of the heavy anticipation in the air, the buzz in his stomach, and then their lips are meeting again. It’s not as slow and sweet as last time; there’s a hint of desperation this time that Louis didn’t feel last time, his own burning desire to crawl into Harry’s lap and grind down. He wonders if they can still go back after this—and pushes away the irritating voice that keeps saying _even after the first kiss there was no going back, no going back after that, mate._

The moment he gives in, Harry’s hands are helping him, pushing the duvets down his legs so Louis has more room when Harry cups Louis’ arse. Before long, they are grinding their cocks together through their pyjama bottoms while Louis slides his fingers into Harry’s hair and groans into the kiss.

He’s too hot already, and Harry is gasping under him. He can feel Harry’s erection press against his own, burning hot like Harry promised, but all Louis wants to do is push closer to Harry’s body, grind against him until they are both breathless.

Harry’s got a different idea, though. He’s pushing Louis off, and for a moment Louis freezes, worried he’s taken it too far, but Harry is splaying him out on the bed a second later. It feels good, incredibly so, to have Harry’s bigger body move on top of him, their cocks rubbing together. Yet it’s nothing compared to the moment Harry presses a quick kiss to Louis’ lips and then pushes down his joggers and pants in one go, revealing his cock.

Thinking, Louis reckons, is far overrated.

He has already gone a little wet at the tip, and Harry has no qualms about crawling down until he’s sat between Louis’ legs. Louis is left dizzy when Harry sucks his erection into his mouth at once, digging his fingers into the sheets as he moans. With his free hand Harry tries to ruck up Louis’ shirt even as he keeps his fingers wrapped around the base as he sucks on the tip, his tongue swirling around it at the same moment and Louis—

Louis wishes he’d have lasted over a bloody minute flat, but it’s too overwhelming. He’s been thinking about this and it’s so much better than he’d thought, and— _Oh_. Harry has to keep his hips from bucking up, and Louis whines, pulls at Harry’s hair because he can’t _speak_ and he’s about to come _about to come goingtocomenow, “_ Harry, _please,_ you... _shit._ ”

Harry’s still got his cheeks hollowed, his tongue pressing into Louis’ slit and a hand rolling his balls against his body, when Louis starts to spill. His entire body jerks with the force of the orgasm as he moans loud, his back arching even as Harry lets his cock slip from his mouth and continues to jerk him through it with just his hand, slick with spit and come.

He stops right when Louis needs him to, too, and it takes a while before he regains the ability to think as he comes down from his orgasm. The feeling in his stomach—it’s not, it’s. Well. Louis wouldn’t describe it as _panic_ , but it’s not too far from it, so he stomps down on it by taking a few deep breaths and not thinking about what just happened. He stares at Harry instead.

“Good?” Harry asks, voice rough as he pushes himself up, pulling his pyjamas down at the front to reveal his own erection.

Louis nods, looking down at Harry’s cock as he leans over Louis and starts to wank. Louis can tell Harry’s close and he wants—Louis wants, wants _something_. More. He’s not sure what, his mouth flooding with saliva but he can’t do that, not now, even to really think of it is too daunting.

What he can do, though...

Louis gently slaps away Harry’s hand, looks up at him as he gently curls his own fingers around Harry’s cock and that’s—that’s—

 _Wow_.

Harry gasps sweetly, his eyes closing as his hips move in rhythm with Louis’ fist pumping.

He’s bigger than Louis, longer and thicker and throbbing hot in Louis’ hand. When Louis swipes his thumb over the head he knows what Harry meant, the velvety warm feel of the skin much more pronounced now that it’s not his own cock, or his own climax, that he’s focusing on. The way Harry is so obviously aroused, chasing his orgasm as his hips move his erection into Louis’ hand with frantic little thrusts.

Harry doesn’t last much longer than Louis did, adding to the mess that was already pooling on Louis’ stomach.

Harry doesn’t even get self-conscious after, he just opens his eyes and smiles lazily as he leans in for a quick kiss to Louis’ mouth, still a little bitter with the taste of Louis’ precome (or perhaps his actual come, because Louis isn’t sure if Harry pulled away in time to miss the first load). Then Harry darts off the bed and to the bathroom, so Louis is left on his own, trying to sort out the mess of feelings and thoughts in his head and belly, all of it even more jumbled than before.

Louis pulls off his shirt and uses it to mop up the semen on his stomach that didn’t end up on his shirt right away. His cheeks are burning knowing that it’s not just his own, that his hand is sticky with _Harry’s come_ , the faint musk and chlorine smell lingering. Louis hadn’t intended to ever go this far with a boy, and yet here he is.

He reckons maybe it’s good. Maybe he’s got it out of his system now.

Harry cuddles up to him when he gets back from his quick shower, turning off the telly, and Louis pretends to be asleep the entire time.

-

He wishes that getting off with Harry would’ve settled the deal for him. That he would have stopped thinking about Harry’s mouth, and his hands, and the little quirk of his lips whenever Louis makes an idiot of himself on stage.

Instead he finds himself staring at the telly at night, the sound muted and a cup of tea on the table as he is unable to sleep even though it’s been _weeks_ now.

It’s like with the kiss, with the images on replay in his mind and he can’t shake them, no matter what he does.

The fluttery feeling in his stomach that started when Harry came out is only growing more intense, and Louis is finding it increasingly hard to have a wank without thinking back on that night.

He tells himself it was the way Harry’s tongue had been just _so_ clever, the way Harry had seemed infinitely more into sucking him off than any of the girls Louis has been with.

Honestly. He thought he could handle it but things are weird now and Louis regrets getting himself into the situation, even if he’s not sure he could’ve avoided it at all.

Now that he’s been thinking about it, there were definitely little signals Harry gave off when they’d first met. His questions into Louis’ love life never specified if he was talking about guys and girls, and he’d casually mention the gay community or call guys hot. But Louis knows, he knows that those signals don’t have to mean anything, because all they seem to be doing is getting each other off.

Harry had said so himself—you don’t need to be dating to fool around. That it’s just because he thinks Louis is pretty.

It doesn’t keep himself from wondering if it’s _his_ fault. After all, Louis was the one to nag Harry for information, and Harry only kissed him when Louis wouldn’t shut up, Harry only got him off when Louis wouldn’t shut up.

Louis has gone and buggered it all up, and he hates himself a little for it.

-

Like last time, Harry goes right back to acting normal.

Louis avoids everything to do with the situation, including his own eyes whenever he looks at a reflection of himself. It’s awkward and mildly horrible, because there’s nothing he’d love more than to cuddle up with Harry to feel more comfortable, but after what happened, and with all the things he’s been thinking, he _can’t._

Niall’s the only one who mentions it to Louis, which is a little surprising because he thought for sure it would be Zayn.

“Why are you avoiding Harry?” he asks when they’re cuddled up on Louis’ bed, playing Fifa.

“I’m not avoiding Harry,” Louis tells him. “What gives you the impression that I am?”

“Well,” Niall frowns, tossing aside the controller even if they’re mid game. It means he’s serious, and it also means that Louis is going to score as many goals as possible while he tries to bluff his way out of this talk. “You’re not in his room right now.”

Louis snorts as he has Beckham easily pass Niall’s fumbling players. Even Cillessen doesn’t keep the goal clear.

He hoots, and Niall elbows him.

Louis is still rubbing his side when he turns to glare at Niall. “C’mon, I don’t have to be around Harry all the time. We do this more often!”

“Yeah, but usually you don’t shut up about Harry,” Niall complains, and Louis wishes Niall _would_ shut up because he’s not sure what he might say if Niall doesn’t. Honestly, he doesn’t know what he’d say if he were to talk about Harry right now. _I want to kiss him every time I see him. God, I want to be close to him, have sex with him, I think I want to be holding his hand in front of you and that’s not what best mates do_. “You didn’t fight, did you?”

“We didn’t, no,” Louis shakes his head.

“And Harry didn’t upset you?” Niall cuddles a little closer to Louis, both bony arms wrapping around Louis’ waist.

“Nope,” Louis tells him, easily scoring another goal. If only Niall knew what’s going on. If it’s still an ongoing thing at all, because nothing has happened in the past few weeks, and regardless of how weird it was when it _was_ happening, Louis isn’t sure how he feels about it having stopped. Neither he nor Harry have brought it up, and Louis wonders if by now Harry’s moved on. Probably. It’s probably a good thing, too, honestly.

“You’d tell me if he did, yeah?” Niall asks him. “Or tell Zayn, I know he’s worried too. Or Liam. Just tell one of us if you’re not okay, please?”

If there’s anything Louis likes less than talking about Harry in fear of spilling his guts, it would be to lie, so he omits the truth instead.

“I’m about to score my third goal against you, and that’s during an emotional talk. Maybe you should start playing again,” he forces himself to smirk. The cheers are loud when he scores, and he’s relieved to swerve the topic.

If Niall realises that it’s a diversion tactic, he doesn’t show it. He picks up his controller and tries to win the match.

-

There’s talk amongst the PR department about how he needs to find a girl to date because apparently the gay rumours about Louis, brought on by his flamboyance, are getting to be too much. The solution will be that he has to have a girlfriend, and they have compiled a list for him that he’s currently looking through.

 There are several girls he can choose from and they all look pretty with their long hair and bright eyes, and they’re all British, white, well-educated and around his age.

Louis can feel Harry’s eyes on him the entire time he’s trying to decide who’ll be the best match for him—who he wouldn’t mind dating, kissing, perhaps even date for real eventually—until he finally gives up. He’s not sure why he’s not interested in any one of the girls, because a year ago he’d have jumped up at the chance of dating any of the girls. Now, all he feels is a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, along with the stirrings of anxiety that he still can’t quite place.

The fact that Harry seems so intently focused on him is making him feel unnerved and so he says, “All right lads, I’m going to get my beauty sleep.”

They nod and tell him to sleep well, have a good night and Louis jokes back at them to have a good morning as he sleeps in.

And while he does get into bed right away, he doesn’t go to sleep. His mind’s still whirring with thoughts he doesn’t want to be thinking, most of them involving Harry and his mouth, his sleepy smile when he wakes up in the middle of the night when Louis gets back into bed after a trip to the loo, and hopes that a film will help distract him.

It does, partly. He’s trying his best to be scared by the horror, until Harry comes into the room.

“What was that about?” he asks Louis.

“What?” Louis doesn’t look up from the screen and he doesn’t scoot over to give Harry more space when he climbs into the bed next to Louis.

“That list,” Harry says, and then his hand’s curling around Louis’ waist and Louis doesn’t want to be doing this.

“Just something Modest wants me to do,” he shrugs, wondering how he can keep Harry at a distance, because Louis knows what will happen if he doesn’t. “Now Harold, will you excuse me, I’m trying to watch a film.”

“I noticed,” Harry mumbles, pushing his face into Louis’ neck like he’s trying to breathe him in. Louis isn’t sure what Harry is trying to do but it sends a shiver down his spine, setting fire to the first sparks of arousal in his belly.

 “You don’t act like you’ll let me watch the film,” Louis says quietly, hoping that Harry won’t notice his physical response even if Louis doesn’t know whether he wants Harry to stop. Then Harry’s pressing a kiss to his neck. “What is this, Haz?”

“Kissing your neck,” Harry whispers before continuing, and Louis should be telling Harry to stop. He should be pushing Harry off, he should be calling off this entire _thing_ that’s been going on between them, but it feels so _good_ that it sends a shiver down his spine. The urge to have Harry closer is almost overwhelming.

He swears that he’s not in control of his hands when he pulls down the lid of the laptop and puts it aside on the floor.  Shit.

“What are you doing that for?” Louis asks, already a little breathless. “I’m not some knob you’re about to go down on, you know.”

Harry snorts, shaking his head and looking a bit unsure. He’s still pressed close to Louis and Louis sighs as he crooks his head to the side to allow Harry better access for a kiss.

 “I wouldn’t mind, you know? If you kissed me again,” he whispers, because he was being rude and he doesn’t want to be, not if it’s only because Harry makes him feel nervous.

And Harry, of course, listens perfectly.

Louis closes his eyes in an attempt to stop thinking and he doesn’t open them when Harry’s gentle kisses move up higher, to the jut of his jaw and then his cheekbone and then the side of his head. After that, Harry gently pushes Louis’ hair to the side, cupping Louis’ chin to tilt his face up to Harry’s, and Harry presses a quick kiss to the corner of his mouth before slotting their lips together.

He deepens the kiss easily, pushing his hand into Harry’s curls and Louis missed that, missed the soft feeling of the wisps of hair against his palm and the way Harry groans when he runs his fingers along his scalp with gentle pressure.

It’s a long kiss, too, the kind that goes on for ages and with the kiss being the only purpose. There’s no heat behind it like there was last time, and Louis finds himself growing relaxed and sleepy as Harry runs his hands up and down Louis’ back, his sides, his arms and his jaw.

When he finally yawns mid-kiss, Harry snickers. “Spoon me, Lou?” he asks, and Louis is feeling too nice to even think about saying no.

So he’s got his arms full of Harry, and his nose buried in his tickly curls. The last thing he notices before he drifts off to sleep is Harry’s fingers entwining with his own.

-

It’s not long after that, that Louis starts to find he’s unable to sleep because his mind is whirring with thoughts.

It’s been an issue for a while now, pretty much since he first kissed Harry, but he’d been doing well at avoiding the thoughts the majority of time.

When it’s dark, though, they come back full-force.

The thoughts—they’re mostly memories that he’d forgotten about. The way he’d stare at Drew during footie practise, just because liked to look at the lines of his body, the accompanying urge to know how he felt under Louis’ hands. Or all the times that he stared at his David Beckham posters, hand on his cock, or that time Hannah kissed a girl and had told Louis that he should kiss a boy, now, and he’d left in a panic even though later he found out she was joking.

And there are more instances he can recall—going out with his Uni mates and the feeling he felt in his tummy whenever they walked through Manchester’s Gay Village but couldn’t place, how his mum had asked him about his sexuality once because he’d checked out a lad walking by and although he’d vehemently denied it then, his eyes had definitely lingered.

For some reason he’d never really given it much thought. He’d fancied his girlfriends, and he’d only had girlfriends, which was enough for Louis to establish himself as straight.

Now his past is catching up with him as the still-unspoken but undeniable truth.

The words are unfamiliar on his tongue when he forms them for the first time, his heart hammering in his chest and his hands clammy and trembling above the sheets.

“Bi,” he says to himself, watching his mouth move. “I’m bisexual. I’m... bi.” Shit, it’s the truth, isn’t it? “I’m bi.”

He hears a car alarm go off in the distance, and he decides to go for a wee and a splash of cold water in his face to pull himself from his reverie.

Sleep does come after that, but it’s not particularly easy or restful.

-

Louis is well aware by now that he should do something to stop kissing Harry, to keep himself from getting hurt in the end.

Yet at the same time, he’s powerless, unable to say no when Harry crowds closer to Louis, his gentle hands coaxing Louis into another kiss.

Their usual film nights are back on track now that they’re home again. The only difference is that now, they can’t keep their hands off each other. Sometimes they can’t even wait until the film is halfway over before Louis finds himself sat in Harry’s lap, kissing him with the desperation of a drowning man who’s in need of air. Nothing more happens, and eventually they’ll both go to sleep in their own bedroom.

Sleeping alone is difficult, though. Louis is constantly aware of his growing need to be around Harry, to be touching him, to be holding and kissing him, and it’s making him feel anxious.

“Didn’t know you were-“ he gasps into Harry’s mouth, “such a good snog.” It’s true, Harry’s proper good at what he’s doing and his taste is _addictive_ , and _god_ —Louis wants to give Harry a blowjob, wants to know how he tastes and sounds and how he looks because Harry looks ravished even after only kisses.

“Like I said, you should’ve believed the tabloids, really,” Harry purrs back at him, flashing Louis a lewd smirk that shouldn’t make his cock twitch. It does.

“So you really did see that boy for a while?” Louis grins as he grinds down. “Had him blow you?”

Harry laughs as he pushes his hips up to meet Louis’, his hands finding Louis’ arse. “Yeah, I did. I’m glad you finally believe me, babe. Means I can tell you that I _can_ do fantastic things with my tongue.”

“That I already know,” Louis groans as Harry squeezes his bum firmly, pulling their bodies closer together.

“Louis Tomlinson, did you just give me a compliment?” Harry laughs into the kiss. “I didn’t expect that from you.”

“Piss off, Haz,” Louis rolls his eyes before he leans in to nip at Harry’s smooth jaw. “Can’t have your head getting too big, that’s all.”

“What? Why? If my head gets too big you won’t think I’m cute enough to snog anymore?”

Louis shrugs and sucks a love bite into the pale, unmarred skin of Harry’s neck instead because he needs something to do, something to distract Harry with. It works and makes Harry groan, his fingers squeezing rhythmically, the feeling shooting straight to Louis’ cock.

“More like you won’t get head if you’re a twat,” he mutters when he’s completed his masterpiece. It’s definitely the biggest hickey he’s given to one of his boys before, although that’s easily accredited to the fact that Harry didn’t move away like the others usually do; like Harry usually does, too.

It sparks something like pride in his chest. Helps distract him a little from what he’s just said, too, even if it’s all true.

“You want to give me head?” Harry gasps, and Louis tries not to think about just _how_ much he does. To cover up his nerves, he grinds down before pressing his hand down over the bulge in the front his joggers.

“If you’d like?” Louis asks. He has been thinking about how Harry would look for a while now, and Louis has liked to make Harry feel good from the beginning. It almost feels like a natural progression, and Louis is almost more afraid of the fact that he’s not afraid to share this with Harry. He’s not sure what else he’d admit to if Harry asked him, though.

“Of course I’d _like_ you to, Lou, bloody hell,” Harry tells him, suddenly serious. “But you have to like it too, okay. You can’t just do this because I did you. Or because we snog for fun sometimes.”

Louis shrugs, and suddenly meeting Harry’s eyes is a little difficult. He’s not worried about not liking it. He’s pretty sure he will, which means that he’s worried about liking it too much and about what that _means_ for him. For them. In private, Louis realises that there’s no stopping this—that the Thing is getting more far more serious for him than he’d ever set it out to be. He refuses to think that Harry does more for him than Hannah ever could have but even the fact that he’s thought about it like that—it is terrifying.

But now Harry’s moans have his dick throbbing hard in his joggers, the soft material tenting up at the front. And the second Harry puts his hands on Louis’ thighs, pressing down the fabric so his cock forms a clear outline, Louis feels lit on fire.

“I want to know what it’s like, Haz,” he says, his face heating up. He plays with the button on Harry’s khakis for a while, no real intent to open them until his fingers brush the outline of Harry’s cock and Harry groans, his hips shocking into motion.

He remembers the way Harry felt in his hand, and he wonders if he’s going to feel that hot and silky when Louis puts his mouth on him. If he’s going to be able to make Harry moan, to take him apart with his mouth the way Harry had taken him apart. If Harry’s erection will be slick with Louis’ saliva or with precome.

“Might want to get down on your knees, then,” Harry rasps out, and Louis looks up at him. He knows he’s got a bit of a deer caught in the headlights look going on, his eyes wide, but he’s trying to pull himself back together and succeeding quite well.

“I’ve received a few blowjobs in my days, dear Harold. I do think I know how to proceed.”

“Oh yeah?” Harry grins back at him, still clearly flustered. “Then why don’t you show me, baby?”

The new nickname sends another thrill through Louis’ body, leaving him weak at his knees as he finally gets up and kneels in front of the couch, in front of Harry. It’s a little awkward once he’s there, because he’s still fumbling with the damn button, but once Harry’s helped him open his trousers it’s easier to get on with it.

Louis pulls Harry’s trousers halfway down his thighs and leans over him, staring at the bulge in Harry’s pants warily. Harry’s cock, tenting the fabric, looks a lot larger this close up. He can smell Harry’s arousal too, quite strongly actually, and he thinks he’d have been put off by it if he hadn’t been quite so turned on.

“You smell a little musky,” he quips.  “Maybe you should approach a perfume company with this unique scent. Get immortalised as an _eau de toilette_.”

Harry giggles, thighs wiggling at the sides of Louis’ face. Louis wants to bite them, mark them up as _his_. “You can’t tell me that my cock smells that nice.”

It doesn’t, of course. Harry is a teenage boy, he might have showered this morning but any trace of soap is gone and now it’s just—musk, yeah, a sharp and warm smell that Louis can’t describe as either nice or not-nice, because all it is, is sweat and _sex_. And Harry, there’s something distinctly Harry about it too.

It doesn’t even matter. His mouth is watering anyway, because Louis is turned on by the simple fact that he was the one to arouse Harry like this. “I’m just—shit, _Harry_.” That is when he does push the side of his face against Harry’s thigh, licking at it because he’s not sure how Harry would take Louis saying _I would wear your sweat as perfume every day_. He’d probably think Louis has gone proper daft, ready to be institutionalised.

He’s got one finger hooked in Harry’s pants, and he’s not stalling, not really, but...

Louis is terrified of not being good enough.

Because Harry deserves so much and Louis isn’t sure if he can give him all that he does. He is so worked up already, his muscles trembling under Louis’ mouth when he sucks a love bite into the skin, the wet spot in his underwear growing. Harry moans quietly and Louis bites down harder, desperate to make sure that it stays for a while, and the thought that overtakes Louis is that Harry could have _anyone_ , he could have someone who’s got experience but he’s chosen to have _Louis_ suck him off.

“Hey,” Harry whispers, noticing Louis slowing down. His finger is under Louis’ chin, urging him to look up. “If you don’t want to, that’s okay too. You don’t have to.”

“I want to,” Louis says quickly, because he doesn’t want Harry to think he doesn’t want his. He pulls Harry’s pants down without looking. He’s still looking into Harry’s eyes when he puts his hand on Harry’s cock, so he can watch the way Harry’s eyes flutter shut a little.

The skin really is as hot and as velvety tight as he remembers, and when he moves his hand up, he can feel the way the foreskin gives and slips over the head of Harry’s cock. The way Harry’s lips part is overwhelming, but looking down definitely does not help ease Louis’ arousal either.

He watches as the head pokes up out of his fist, red and swollen and the wetness of precome has spread where he’s pulled down the foreskin, so he thumbs at the slit. Louis must be pressing down a little too hard, because Harry whines, his hips jerking up a little.

Louis’ breath speeds up when he leans in, not sure what to expect when he tentatively licks at the tip. It tastes like skin and musk, with the precome a slick layer of bitter that he recognises because it tastes like his own. It’s not a great taste, but the little noise Harry makes as Louis drags his tongue over the head again _is_ one of the best things Louis has heard.

It’s a little high pitched whine, his thighs tensing under Louis’ hands as his fingers slide into Louis’ hair. It is encouragement enough to get Louis to take the tip into his mouth with a little more confidence, pressing his tongue against the skin and sucking a little.

He can taste the bursts of precome when he starts sucking a little harder, just like Harry said, slowly bobbing his head up and down. It’s hard to swallow properly, saliva dripping down his hand where he keeps it curled around the base of Harry’s cock.

Suddenly Harry yelps and pulls on Louis’ hair, squirming so badly his thigh connects with Louis’ cheek.

“No teeth, Lou!” he squeaks. “Jesus.”

Louis can feel the embarrassed blush rise on his cheeks, because it’s his first time and he wants to be good at this, wants to run away because he’s ashamed of hurting Harry because he didn’t think.

“Heeyy,” Harry mumbles, aware of Louis’ distress. “It’s fine, love, just try not to do that again, please?”

Louis nods, taking a deep breath. And Harry’s cock is still in his hands and Louis _jokes_ when he’s feeling awkward, _bloody hell_ , the words falling from his lips without thinking them through. “I did swallow your dick like it was a tasty sausage though, didn’t I?”

“Fuck—Lou, why would you joke—” Harry groans exasperatedly. Louis sucks the tip of Harry’s cock back into his mouth, because he doesn’t want to hear Harry finish the sentence.

He doesn’t try to take Harry’s cock all the way down his throat anymore, because it’s easier to stick to what he knows than to fail miserably, especially when this gets the most vocal response from Harry anyway.

It’s only after Harry moans again that he tells Louis, “ _Yess_ , take my sausage, please.”

Louis does almost choke then, pulling away and coughing as he leans his forehead against Harry’s thigh. “You can’t just _say_ that when I’m going down on you!”

Harry is flushed and with his hair wild, smiling down at Louis. His lips are red, and his blush spreads all the way down to his chest.

“I know, baby, just... Do you—I don’t—you can pull off when I come,” he tells Louis. “I’m really close, I’m—I’ll warn you.”

Louis watches the way Harry closes his eyes and swallows hard. He’s felt Harry’s cock twitch in his hand and against his tongue, _god_ , he’s aware of how he can almost continuously taste Harry’s precome leaking from the slit when he presses his tongue to it. Harry’s—he’s _very_ pretty, falling apart under Louis’ hands. And Louis is just so, _so_ pleased that he was the one to make Harry look like this.

“Yeah,” he tells Harry, just to let him know he heard what he said before he goes back to sucking on Harry’s cock.

And yet. It’s a little different now, knowing that Harry is close. Louis keeps his eyes on Harry’s face, even if he can’t really see him well from this angle. He sees the general motions though, feels Harry’s fingers move against his scalp and the little writhing motions of his hips under his hands, as he clearly tries to keep as still as possible for Louis.

For a moment Louis considers swallowing, but that makes him feel anxious rather than excited, so when Harry’s moans grow more desperate, his fingers tightening in Louis’ hair, he pulls away.

He watches Harry’s face as he wanks him off as fast as he can, Harry trembling under his hands as he spills over his belly with a loud groan, one of his legs coming to rest on Louis’ shoulder as Louis pulls him through his orgasm. He doesn’t stop jerking at Harry’s cock until Harry gently swats at Louis’ hands, squirming away from his touch.

“Was that okay?” Louis asks him, his voice a little rough around the edges, and that’s a little different. Louis _likes_ that, the way he sounds from having sex; the way he might have sounded if he had swallowed Harry down a little deeper.

“Fuck. Yeah. Lou—“ and then Harry’s pulling him back into his lap, kissing Louis regardless of what a mess he is, or the taste of dick still in his mouth (Louis is a bit shocked by that, honestly, he doesn’t kiss the girls he’s been with right after they’ve gone down on him) and he starts fumbling with the drawstring of Louis’ joggers. “Want to make you feel just as good, babe.”

Harry slides his hand inside, his fingers brushing the base of Louis’ cock. It’s enough to make him shiver, but the angle is all wrong with the waistband spanning too tight over Harry’s wrist so he pushes himself up to his knees, so Harry can slide his trousers and pants down to his thighs.

The moment he sits back down, Harry pulls him in close enough that his cock presses up against Harry’s belly, warm and soft and almost shockingly slick with Harry’s come. Louis’ hips move by accident, so his cock glides over the smooth skin and Harry—

Harry’s gaze grows hot again, dipping to Louis’ mouth as he says, “You want to do that? Fuck yourself against my belly until you come?”

And Louis can’t help but whine, his hips bucking forward again, forced even closer by Harry’s hands on his bare bum. He’s so close already, so amazingly hard from watching Harry get off, that he can feel the coil of excitement in his belly tighten in the lead-up to his orgasm. He won’t need much more. The way Harry keeps squeezing his bum feels so much better than he could’ve imagined and—

Harry’s skin feels amazing against his cock, slick enough with Harry’s come to move with quick thrusts and pliant enough to catch a little on the head, the noises he’s making loud in the otherwise quiet room. And when Harry’s dry finger brushes over his hole Louis topples forwards, moaning helplessly as he comes between their bodies, adding to the mess that was already on Harry’s stomach as he clutches Harry’s shoulder, his hips moving fast and out of rhythm as he fucks himself through his climax.

Harry holds him close for a while after, sitting Louis back down on his thighs before he cradles him close. Louis can feel himself shake a little with the force of his orgasm, and he’s a little embarrassed about how wanton he got, so he buries his face in Harry’s neck to hide his flushed cheeks.

Harry’s trailing fingers up and down Louis’ back, calming him and allowing him to settle into the feeling before he finally whispers, “Let’s clean up and go to bed, yeah?”

Louis nods.

He lets Harry get a washcloth for him, then lets Harry clean his cock and his stomach. It doesn’t matter that they were naked before, that Louis just had his mouth on Harry’s cock to get him off... This feels far more intimate than anything else they’ve done so far. The warmth in Louis’ chest is expanding, making it difficult to breathe as he keeps watching Harry.

Harry’s got a look of concentration on his face, his hands gentle but sure as he wipes down Louis before handing him a clean pair of pants.

“I’ll be back in a sec,” he says, smiling at Louis and pressing a quick kiss to his cheek.

He’s back within a minute, cuddling up to Louis, warm and steady and Louis is too tired and too calm to do anything but fall asleep.

-

Sometime in the middle of the night, Louis wakes up.

He gently extracts himself from Harry, mindlessly pressing a kiss to the back of his neck before he pads over to the loo.

It’s not until he’s washing his hands, squinting his eyes against the harsh light while he searches his mirror reflection for obvious hickeys, that it dawns on him.

Or maybe that’s not the right word. It crashes over him, the realisation he’s been shoving away, deliberately ignoring for weeks. It leaves him gasping as he stares at himself, and his mind only tells him, _this is something, this is_ something _, this isn’t nothing at all._

_I’m in love with my best friend._

And he hadn’t—before tonight Louis still held up the idea that he was not into Harry beyond a mutual attraction. He knows that there’s a difference between having sex and having feelings for someone, and going into this thing with Harry he’d assumed it was only about getting each other off, a mutually beneficial thing handy for when they’re not seeing someone else.

Plenty of his mates were casually seeing girls like this in sixth form; he knows _Harry_ fooled around with plenty of people without it being any more serious than that. And while Louis never saw himself as capable of doing that with a lass without feelings being involved from his side, with a bloke he initially reckoned it’d be okay because he wouldn’t fall in love anyway.

It was supposed to be platonic, or summat.

Now he likes it enough to confirm that he’s bisexual.

And just liking Harry was not what the kiss he last gave Harry was, Louis knows that. And it’s not what that heat was, spreading through his body as he heard Harry moan when he went down on him, or the way his entire body tingles when Harry touches him in a way that he doesn’t think it has before. The way Harry made him feel weak at his knees before they even got naked.

_I kissed a boy, and now I want to kiss him forever, and kiss nobody else ever again._

He’s not sure how long he stands there, looking at himself as he tries to calm down his panicked breathing. His hands have lost all feeling under the cold faucet, grounding him a bit. Louis wonders if he should get back into bed with Harry (oh, and how he _wants_ to, even if now he probably shouldn’t because—because he needs to stop this before he can’t hide this anymore, before he ruins their friendship).

It feels like forever that he’s in there, milling over his choices. He’s finally decided that he should probably go back to his own room and never sleep in Harry’s bed again when he turns off the faucet and dries his hands. By then Harry comes stumbling into the bathroom, sleepy and smiley with his hair in disarray.

He pisses shamelessly, Louis courteously averting his eyes even if there’s not much to avoid anymore by now, and then Harry comes to stand behind Louis to reach around him to wash his hands. Not bumping him aside with his shoulder or hip like he usually does, like he _always_ does, but bracketing Louis’ entire body with his own, making the recent height difference more pronounced in ways that—in ways that Louis doesn’t think he minds.

“You okay?” Harry murmurs in his ear, his still-wet hands coming to rest on Louis’ hips after the soap has rinsed off.

And Louis nods, even if he’s not sure if he is, because Harry’s here with him and that has always settled something deep inside of him, a special kind of no-need-to-worry that calms him down like nothing else and only Harry can offer this to him.

If Harry does notice anything off about him, his freezing cold hands or his eyes a little pink from the tears he almost shed earlier, he doesn’t comment on it.

He just has Louis spoon him again, shuffling back until they’re pressed flush together with their legs entangled under the sheets, and he rubs at Louis’ fingers until his hands are warm again and Harry’s quiet snores fill the room.

-

He wakes up to an empty bed the next morning.

Louis’ initial response to the cold bedside is a shock of regret, because he wouldn’t have minded waking up with a mouthful of curls or Harry’s arm wrapped around his waist.

It’s for the best though, he thinks with a resigned sigh. He could do with a little distance, to figure out what he wants to do with the feelings he has for Harry. When he’s with Harry, it’s too easy to fall right back into him and shove aside the worries.

On top of that, he hasn’t got a clue of how Harry feels about _him_.

On nights like last night, Harry cuddles up to him and kisses him like they’re boyfriends already, but by day it’s like nothing has happened; there are no more touches than usual unless Louis initiates them and it is always Louis who drags Harry into a quiet corner for a cheeky kiss. Louis doesn’t think he can keep doing this if Harry doesn’t fancy him back. He fears it might break his heart.

So instead of looking for Harry he opts to spend more time apart, starting now.

Louis stays in bed a bit longer, pulling out his laptop to watch an episode of the Power Rangers. Then he sends management an email, about which girl he thinks he can stand to fake-date. The whole idea of it makes his stomach churn because it will be a lie—he knows that the girl stands no chance. Maybe he should tell her? Tell Modest?

It’s too scary, honestly, too daunting—the idea of coming out to these people. He’s already being pressured into finding a girlfriend for PR purposes already, because his management fears he’s too flamboyant; Louis isn’t particularly interested in hearing them say _we knew it_ when even Louis himself didn’t know he wasn’t straight.

Louis wonders if he should call his mum to talk about the situation. He figures that she’ll know what to do and Louis knows that she won’t mind if he wants to kiss boys sometimes, that she won’t mind if he wants to kiss _Harry,_ specifically—but just the idea of telling her has him worked into half a panic.

Even though he should pack, he curls back up under the blankets after he’s turned his phone off. He’s not sure how long he lies awake but he must doze off at some point, because the next thing he knows, Paul is barging into his room and asking him why he’s not up yet.

He packs his bag under Paul’s watchful gaze, but there aren’t any questions about why the bed looks messy enough for two and he doesn’t give Louis the impression that he knows Harry spent the night in Louis’ room.

Not that it would matter if he had—they all have crashed each other’s rooms before. It doesn’t matter anything, they’re only mates.

-

Louis intends on phoning his mum that night, but Harry finds him before he can.

And unlike the last couple of times, they don’t start out watching a film first or just snogging lazily.

No, this time they’ve just got back from the concert, still sweaty and wound up, and Harry’s got him pressed firmly against the door of his hotel room. He’s grinding against Louis with a thigh pressed firmly against Louis’ throbbing cock. It makes it easy to shove aside all the worries about Harry finding out how he feels.

Louis tries to pull Harry closer, desperately humping his leg, and he’d be embarrassed about breaking his promise to himself like this—he would have been, if it hadn’t made Harry moan in the best possible way, if he hadn’t been so _into_ _this_. He can feel how hard Harry is where his erection is pressing against Louis’ hip, and honestly he just wants to get naked right now.

Their shirts are shed easily enough; with Louis frantically pulling Harry’s over his head and then taking off his own. Harry is grinning at him before kissing him again, thoroughly this time as he cups Louis’ jaw with one hand and his bum with the other. 

Louis moans before he pushes Harry backwards, gasping, “Get naked,” at him because he needs to _touch touch touch him now,_ fumbling with the button of Harry’s trousers. When Harry seems to grasp what Louis is saying and his fingers are clumsily folding around Louis’, Louis leaves him to it and pushes down his own trousers and pants in one go.

Harry is still struggling with his own trousers, staring at Louis with wide open eyes instead, so Louis pushes him towards the bed. The words are on the tip of his tongue, the _I’m not straight_ and _I love you_ and the _I want to be with you_ , and he’s never been more nervous about having sex with Harry because what if he blurts out any of that?

“You can’t do anything that requires basic motor control when you’re hard, can you?” he tells Harry instead, using his good friend sarcasm to fall back on. He slaps away Harry’s hands and finally pops open the button, dragging his trousers down his hips.

Harry’s cock tents the front of his boxers, and Louis strokes his hand along it, circling the fabric around the head with his finger until he can feel Harry’s hard on twitch, precome wetting the fabric of his pants before Louis finally moves to slip them down. He watches in fascination as Harry’s dick is kept down by the elastic band for ages, how it finally pops free and slaps back against his tummy.

Louis watches Harry, trying to remember everything even if he knows it’s too much to take in—because he’s realised that any time could be the last time. If Harry decides it’s over, it’ll be over, and Louis wants to revel in tonight.

“Fuck, Lou,” Harry groans, writhing on the bed as Louis curls his fist around him, getting on his knees.

He’d liked giving Harry a blowjob last time he did it and he wants to do it again, to make some more memories.

It might be the last time, if he can keep himself from touching Harry from now on. Or if Harry finds out, of course.

At the same time, there’s another factor. Louis hasn’t ever particularly gotten _off_ to going down on a girl, too focused on making her feel good with his tongue and fingers to do anything about himself—but when he was doing it to Harry the last time, Louis felt like he was going to come untouched, right then and there and in his pants.

“I’m not sure if I should be sorry for not being able to think when you look at me like that,” Harry breathes hard, his cheeks flushed.

“Like what?” Louis asks, dread sinking in his gut. He’s been told before that he wears his emotions on his face, shows them too easily to the people he thrusts.

Harry’s expression goes soft for a moment, smiling gently as he cards his fingers through Louis’ hair. He looks like he wants to say something, but Louis can’t let that happen because it might be something he can’t deal with right now.

Instead he sucks down Harry’s cock, turning the _Louis_ he started his sentence with into a groan.

Harry’s flavour lies sharp and obvious on Louis’ tongue and as any and all traces of soap are gone all Louis tastes and breathes is _sex_. It’s glorious. Harry’s also harder than he was when Louis started last time, already twitching in Louis’ hand and on his tongue, leaking bitter precome as his quiet moans hitch and falter every so often.

He sounds like he’s overwhelmed but trying to keep quiet so Louis pulls off Harry’s cock with a wet pop and tells him, “I want to hear you.”

“I want to kiss you,” Harry gasps in reply, and because he’s a twat he grabs Louis’ hair firmly and forces him up. When their bodies slide together, slick and warm and sticky, Louis is amazed by the way it feels; the way it shoots sparks up his spine that leave him needing to press even closer, even harder up against Harry.

Louis leans down for a kiss, his hips moving on their own accord as his cock slides against Harry’s. It’s easier with the aid of the saliva he left, with their sweat and their precome mixing together as Harry takes a hold of Louis’ dick—and then extends his fingers so they’re curled around both their hard-ons, keeping their erections pressed together.

Louis feels so hot, he can’t think properly anymore, can’t think at all when he’s with Harry like this because the only thing he really _wants_ is to is to say _I love you_. He bites down on his lip hard, watches the way Harry’s eyes grow heavy lidded as Louis fucks his cock into Harry’s tight fist. The friction is amazing and Louis’ arms buckle. He’s pretty sure he’d not be able to stand up, pretty sure he’ll come in moments from now, pleasure spreading through his entire body as his muscles tense—

“Louis,” Harry moans, biting at Louis’ jaw, his mouth pressing wet kisses on Louis’ face and turning him on even more. “Louis, feels so good, God, baby, I’m gonna come, gonna _come_ —“

He’s not done talking yet when Louis can feel it, dripping down his lower belly and slicking up Harry’s hand even more. Harry’s movements slow down, his hand dropping away from their cocks as he catches his breath, leaving Louis tethering on the edge.

Louis steals a kiss to calm down a little, wanting the _need_ _youneedtocomenowneedyou_ to fade from his mind before he grins. “Clearly you’re the youngest here, Harold, shooting off like a proper teen you are.”

“You’ve only just turned twenty, Louis, don’t be a tit,” Harry pokes out his tongue. “gimme a sec though. I need to—have to breathe.”

“Then breathe,” Louis tells him, nudging his own cock against Harry’s softening erection. Even that friction is enough to make his eyes roll back in his head. “And make it a bit quicker than this, please, because I don’t know how much longer I can stand this.”

“That desperate, Lou?” Harry asks him, pulling Louis back in for a quick kiss before he says, “Get on your back, I’ll suck you off.”

Louis nods, flopping onto the bed eagerly and bouncing a little on the centre of the mattress as he shoves a pillow under his head. He can tell Harry’s amused by his eagerness, the glint in his eye obvious as he crawls over to sit between Louis’ legs, leaning down.

Louis really doesn’t care right now.

He cares even less when Harry swallows him down in one big gulp, seemingly undeterred by his own semen spread all over Louis’ cock, and the way Louis’ cock twitches makes Harry giggle.

“Fuck off,” Louis groans at him. He slides his fingers into Harry’s curls and throws his own head back as he takes a deep breath.

It feels good, the deep and wet heat almost all the way down to the base where Harry’s fingers are squeezing him and the places where Harry’s mouth touches his cock feel velvety soft and ready to be fucked into. His tongue offers an entirely new dimension, prodding at the slit when there’s cool air against the rest of his erection, and pushing at the underside when Harry moves back down. Harry’s other hand is playing with his balls, tugging gently before he presses them up against Louis’ body, firm-but-gentle, massaging the sensitive skin with the palm of his hand.

The double (or triple? He’s not sure) stimulation has Louis hurtling towards his orgasm when Harry’s hand slips further down, to the soft skin behind his balls and suddenly Louis wants more, wants Harry’s fingers to dip beyond that, tries to angle his hips so that it’ll happen again by accident—

Wants to know what it’d be like to feel Harry inside of him, what it’d be like to _make love like that_ , _fuck_.

And Harry catches on, of course, smirking around Louis’ cock when his finger presses right where Louis wants it, his entire body so sensitive that the feeling rackets up through his spine, spreading to his limbs and settling everywhere so that he’s grabbing the pillow under his head and pushing his hips up into the warmth of Harry’s mouth.

“I’m going to—“ he whines hoarsely, and then Harry’s mouth is gone from his cock, replaced with his hand jerking Louis quickly while Harry sucks on his balls, his finger suddenly wet and pushing _in in in,_ oh _God_ Louis is going to die, he thinks he’ll combust—

“I’ll finger you properly next time,” Harry whispers against the skin of his belly. “Maybe I’ll even fuck you, I’m sure you’d like that,” his finger slipping in a little further.

And then he’s screaming, coming, arching off the bed as his legs tense up, his hips fucking up into Harry’s hand and back onto that one finger. It goes on and on, Harry’s hand tugging him through his climax relentlessly, getting come everywhere until Louis twitches because he’s too sensitive and has to slap away Harry’s hand.

“That feel good?” Harry mutters as he comes up to lie beside Louis.

Louis nods, ears still buzzing. He keeps his eyes closed as he pulls Harry close for a lazy kiss. He doesn’t open his eyes afterwards either, but he’s still awake enough to feel Harry clean his stomach with the corner of the sheet.

It’s so filthy and especially so unlike Harry that he giggles. Louis is so happy, so enamoured that he almost slips up, _I love you_ , an ice cold feeling growing in the pit of his stomach that he tries to shove away, tries to not think of.

“Shut up, Lou,” Harry mutters, and Louis can almost _hear_ him blush. “I’m tired too.”

“Sleep well, Hazza,” he says.

“Sleep tight, Lou,” Harry tells him, pressing a kiss to Louis’ cheekbone before settling down next to him.

-

When Louis wakes up that night, it’s a surprise that he’d been asleep at all.

The worries come back right away and he lies awake for long minutes that feel like centuries on their own. 

Harry moved away from him in his sleep, facing away from him. All Louis can think is that they are two half-circles now, and he is sure they once fit together into a perfect circle but Harry’s grown so much taller than Louis now, and isn’t the image of that a reflection of reality?

He wonders if that means that once they were meant to be, if Louis simply took too long to catch on.

Now, they just have sex, and Harry’s made it clear that it’s only in the benefit of mutual orgasms. It was never, _never_ meant to lead Louis into a pit of self-doubt and despair and, for God’s sake, heartbreak.

It’s then that Louis decides that he cannot do this anymore. The feelings in his stomach have turned into an icy maelstrom. Right now it feels like his guts are being wrung through a meat grinder, knowing that he can’t possibly be _with_ Harry, and he needs to get away, get away, get away.

He gets dressed as quietly as possible, keeping an eye on Harry in case he wakes up, but he doesn’t.

Harry’s still fast asleep when Louis quietly closes the door behind him, padding down the hall to his own room where he takes a quick shower.

Louis is alone in his bed later, when the appalling reality of the situation truly hits him.

He can’t be with Harry like this anymore, because it’s going to be the end of him.

The tears come long before sleep does.

-

He tries to avoid Harry after that night, claiming exhaustion and headaches when Harry crawls into his bed a couple of times.

He’s lying, of course, and Harry remains invariably positive, even when Louis sends him away.

It’s for the best, Louis tries to tell himself. He doesn’t sleep well with Harry around, afraid that he’ll cuddle up to him during the night or start talking in his sleep. He’d hate to say something while he’s unaware of what he’s doing.

In the end, Louis takes to sleeping on the bus. At least that way he can be sure that nothing can happen between Harry and him. Usually Zayn’s there, and after a week or so, Harry gives up on staying with them.

It’s horrible, because there’s nothing Louis would like more than to drag Harry into his bunk with him. He just _can’t_.

It’s even more difficult because during that time, he’s got his first meeting with Eleanor as well.

She’s gorgeous, of course, kind and funny and quite easy to get along with, and one of the first things he realises is that he _could_ have fancied her. That they could actually have made things work, date for several years before settling down. He can see himself in a different universe, being happy with her.

Of course, that’s why he picked her, but—

But now Harry’s in the picture, and Louis is so desperately, incredibly in _love_ with him.

It changes the entire situation. It would have so been easier to keep up the pretence to be straight if he had still _identified_ as straight. If he’d wanted to actually date her, rather than having to pull up all the _ifs_ he can to make it easier on himself.

Eleanor’s flirting with him during the meeting, smiling and winking at him as she plays with her hair and sips her drink. Louis flirts back because he realises that is exactly what’s expected of him and hopes it’s not going to come back to bite him in the arse.

Modest are watching and they look satisfied when he leaves the small restaurant afterwards, a man he barely knows clapping Louis’ shoulder and smirking, “She’s well fit, mate, you’ve done well to choose her.”

Louis slinks into the corner of the backseat, pulling on a hoodie and putting in his earphones to block out the world and the rest of the Modest employees’ happy chatter.

All in all, he is pretty bloody miserable.

-

When he gets on the bus and sees that Harry is the only person there, Louis excuses himself right away. He doesn’t have the energy to pretend they’re only mates, or alternatively, to talk with Harry. It’s painful to walk past Harry and feel his gaze on his back, especially when Louis is _so_ tired—when, feeling like this, he’d usually cuddle up with Harry.

Instead Louis goes into the small private area at the back of the bus, beyond the bunk beds, and pulls out his phone to call his mum.

“Hey,” he whispers into the receiver when she picks up.

“Are you all right, boo?” she asks him, and Louis takes a deep breath, squeezing his eyes tightly shut. They’re already burning, feeling swollen thick and hot just like his throat.

“I am but—mum.” He can’t keep it to himself, and if he can’t tell Harry—well. “Mum. What would you say if I was like—in love?”

“In love?” She sounds a little surprised, even across the phone. “With who, babe? I thought you weren’t ready for that after you and Hannah-“

“I know,” he interrupts her, pulling up his legs so he can rest his chin on his knees, biting on his thumbnail. “I know, mum, it’s just. It’s. What if it’s Harry?”

He can hear her draw in a deep breath over the phone, but when she speaks again it’s with a hint of a smile in her voice, not disapproval. “Well, then I can’t say I’m surprised.”

The band that was tightening around his chest the past weeks loosens up a little. “Really?”

“Louis, you already kind of clued me in when you told me you’d miss him over Christmas break,” Jay tells him. “It’s my job to know that kind of thing, boo.”

And Louis can’t help the tears that escape his eyes then, no matter how desperately he uses his sleeve to wipe at his cheeks and eyes to make them go away. “I didn’t know,” he confesses to her. “I didn’t realise.”

“Does Harry know?” she asks him.

“No, mum.” He takes a deep breath, biting on the inside of his cheek as he once more wonders if he should tell her. She’s quiet, listening patiently as if she’s aware of Louis’ dilemma and he _knows_ she won’t judge or tell someone else.  “But I did kiss him. We—I do suppose we kissed each other.”

“Oh love,” Jay’s voice comes over the phone, warm and homely and Louis misses her _so much_. “I wish I was there so I could give you a hug.”

“Yeah, I know,” he tells her. “I miss you so much, mum. I wish you _were_ here.”

“You’ll be fine, you’ll be home soon,” Jay tells him, and Louis can hear how she’s now crying a little. It’s enough to bring a flood of fresh tears to his own eyes.

“Yeah,” he nods, wiping at his tears again.

They’re both quiet for a while, but just knowing his mum’s on the other line, the idea that he can hear her breathe calms him down.

“You should tell Harry about this, Lou. He won’t mind,” Jay tells him. “I love you, boobear. Go be with your boys and grab some sleep, I need to put Pheebs and Daise to bed.”

“Yeah. Sleep well, mum,” he tells her, “I’ll think about it. And tell the girls I love them.”

“I will, Lou. Good night and bye.”

“Bye bye.”

Then the phone reverts to the beeping tone that signals the end of the conversation, and Louis looks up at the ceiling as he sighs, closing his burning eyes.

-

He can’t sleep right after telling his mum, of course.

Louis spends an hour in the back of the bus, trying to make up his mind. He knows that either he goes to sleep alone in his bunk or he’ll be stopped by Harry on his way out and back to the hotel.

There’s absolutely no way he can resist Harry’s comfort right now.

When he goes into the narrow path that leads him past the bunks, he sees that only Harry’s curtains are half-closed; the other beds are empty.

It’s easy to resign himself to his fate and crawl into Harry’s bunk.

They don’t speak, but Louis wraps his arm around Harry’s waist, cuddling up to him until there’s no space left between their bodies. Harry entwines his fingers with Louis’, soothing him with small circles drawn on the back of his hand.

Louis spends the night falling asleep and waking up again, thinking over the past seven months. He’d gone from mere curiosity (and a little bit of pestering, but honestly, that goes without saying) to falling in love with the boy he’s curled up in bed with right now.

Harry’s welcoming touch, the way he accepted Louis back immediately allows Louis to wonder whether his mum was right; if he can tell Harry without ruining their friendship.

All this time he’s been evaluating his own feelings for Harry and he completely forgot that there’s absolutely a possibility that Harry could be into him. Forgetting that Harry could be, when being together is that good, is a bit strange in itself now that he properly thinks about it.

Harry’s bisexual, so why couldn’t he be into Louis?

And when he thinks about all the things they’ve done, all the hugs and little whispers they shared even long before they started to shag. Of course, also the quality as well as quantity of the orgasms they’ve had together, it’s suddenly blatantly obvious how blind he has been.

Louis is an idiot.

God, he’s such a bloody idiot. Harry’s got to like Louis at least a _little bit_.

So this time when Harry wakes up the next morning, stirring for a while before he tries to sneak out of the bunk bed by crawling over Louis, Louis instead grabs a tighter hold of him.

“Good morning, love,” he whispers with Harry still hovering over him, only the vague outline of his face visible in the dark.

“Hi Lou,” Harry whispers back, relaxing a little on top of him. His legs settle between Louis’ and he rests on his forearms. His hair tickles Louis’ nose and Louis scrunches up his face a little. “Sleep well?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he lies. “You?” He feels Harry’s hair drag over his face as he nods. “For Christ’s sake, Harry, get your hair out of my face.”

“Oh,” Harry says with a little frown. “Why?”

“Because I’d rather have your face on my face,” Louis confesses quietly, and he ignores the shaking of his hands as he drags Harry in for their first kiss in _weeks_.

It’s slow, and there’s no intention to do more behind it but it feels _so nice_ to be weighed down by Harry again, to have to think of nothing but the way his body feels pressing into Louis’ and how it feels under his hands and the way he kisses.

He keeps it up for a while, drawing his hands through Harry’s hair until the kiss naturally slows down. It’s wonderful to worry less, to not feel that pit of anxiety in his tummy because there’s hope now, _Harry might fancy him_. When Harry rests his forehead against Louis’, he asks, “What did I do to deserve this?”

Louis shrugs even as he thinks _I am so smitten with you_. “I don’t know. It’s been a strange few weeks.” He frowns, remembering management setting him up with a girl; the sick feeling that brings to his stomach. “They want me to date some girl. Modest do.”

He can feel Harry go still on top of him, and horror crawls up his spine as he realises his mistake. Louis isn’t exactly dating Harry and he’s not sure if they will date even if it’s mutual but—he can’t let Harry think that he _will_ actually date Eleanor.

“No, Haz. Um, I meant—fake dating. That was what that list was for, to pick someone.”

“Like a promo thing?” Harry squawks, lying back down beside Louis. His body is still partially covering Louis’, grounding him.

“Yeah, like that.”

“How do you feel about that?” Harry asks him, and Louis’ heart breaks a little when he realises Harry sounds sad. Not shocked or sad for himself, but _sad for Louis_.

“They’re making me,” Louis tells him carefully. He can tell right away that Harry doesn’t buy it for a full answer so he sighs. “I don’t like it, all right? I’ve met her once, and she seems nice enough but it’s just so much bother just to stave off the rumours.”

“Still Modest going no-homo on our arses, huh,” Harry laughs but there’s no humour to it. “I wonder what they’d say if they knew what we get up to.”

“Yeah,” Louis says. “Maybe they’d just be shocked into silence or summat.” He can’t help but grimace at the idea of one of the execs walking in on him and Harry snogging. “The look on their faces would be pretty funny, actually.”

“Sure, love,” Harry tells him, but the way he hugs Louis is a little tighter than usual and Louis recognises it as Harry still being more than a little upset at the news. Not that Louis can blame him—he’s still not keen on the idea either.

And he’d love to tell Harry about how he feels, honestly, especially because after last night and Harry talking about the thing between them as current and still ongoing, he thinks he might stand a chance, but Harry’s so upset right now so Louis decides that he will do it later.

-

It doesn’t take long before Louis regrets his decision to put off the Talk.

Within a few days he’s stressing, wondering about the ways he should word this. He thinks about all the ways that Harry might respond to Louis’ _I love you, Haz_ , and the majority of them are negative now that some time has passed and the confidence he felt has vanished.

It makes meeting Harry’s eyes so much more difficult.

Harry’s gaze has Louis burning hot, sometimes to the point of blushing before he has to look away. He isn’t sure if Harry is aware, but he also wouldn’t be surprised if Harry is and is simply trying to spare his feelings by not pointing it out.  It doesn’t make kissing Harry any easier either, or dragging him into his hotel bed those couple of times he gives in to the urge, because Louis simply can’t say no when Harry’s being his lovely self.

At least, now that he knows he’s in love with Harry, it’s easier to look into his own eyes when he washes his face in the mornings.

-

There are a couple of times where he comes close to telling Harry.

The first time is when Harry kisses him when they’re cleaning up after Harry’s birthday party. It feels domestic and lovely, and when Louis looks at him after the fluttery feeling inside of him swells so big it’s getting difficult to breathe. He’s already opened his mouth, but Harry cuts him off with another kiss instead.

The second time is when they’re both tired, snuggled up in bed. Harry’s rubbing Louis’ hip with his thumb and it feels like the right moment but when he goes to say it, he can’t find the words. It’s scary and his heartbeat kicks up several notches before he decides that it’ll have to wait a bit longer.

The third time is when he’s actually planned it all out, thought it through and set a date. When he and Harry finally get the time alone, though, things don’t go as planned. Harry wants to snog and when Louis starts to talk, works up the courage to say, “What if,” Harry quietly mutters, “Not now,” against the skin under his ear.

It feels almost like something’s keeping him from telling Harry, because Louis hasn’t even said he thinks he’s bisexual, his entire chest closing up when he wants to because he can’t help but wonder—what if Harry doesn’t feel the same? What if it has to stop before Louis is ready to get over Harry?

He’s not sure if he can deal with being turned down, and he’s not entirely sure if he’s ready to face reality yet either. Instead Louis lets things run their course, lets Harry kiss him and suck him off and think Louis is straight before they curl up around each other to go to sleep.

It’s the little world they’ve created for themselves and Louis is scared that if he talks about his feelings now, he’ll shatter the illusion and won’t get back what they’ve got going right now.

-

Louis goes to watch a film in Harry’s room, which is harmless enough in itself. When he wakes up from an accidental nap in the bed, though, something inside of him finally breaks.

He’s not usually the little spoon, but he finds Harry curled up around him from behind, his arms wrapped around Louis and keeping him safe and warm and Louis can tell from the way he’s breathing that he’s not asleep.  Louis isn’t sure if he can keep his feelings bottled up for much longer, and for once he’s quite certain that he doesn’t _want_ to.

“What’s wrong?” Harry’s asking Louis, and it’s only then that he realises his breath is coming too fast, his eyes burning like he’s about to cry.

“I’m not sure,” he lies to Harry, pushing himself tighter against Harry’s body. It’s the only thing that feels safe right now, to close his eyes and feel Harry’s even breathing against the back of his neck.

“You do know, Lou,” Harry’s voice drops to a whisper, his hand squeezing Louis’ hip, and it’s enough to make the tears squeeze from his eyes. _God_ , it’s embarrassing. “Just tell me.”

And he can’t deny Harry the truth, or at least a part of it, any longer, he _can’t_. “What if I said that I think I’m not straight?”

Harry stops moving, and for one ridiculous moment, Louis thinks Harry’s going to shout at him. Then he’s pulled into a weird hug, where Harry wraps his entire self around Louis so that he doesn’t know where one body starts and the other ends.

“Then I’ll tell you that that’s okay, Lou. And that I’m here for you, always.”

Louis is relieved that Harry didn’t say something like _I thought so_ or _I knew it_. Instead, the hug and the reply make him feel warm and nice inside and that’s—that’s the other thing, isn’t it? The bigger secret, the secret he’s more worried about spilling.

But he’s—he’s already gotten so far so he might as well jump into the deep.

Louis has never liked to lie, but still there’s a moment of hesitation, tethering on the edge of big emotions bursting out, his already-frayed nerves still building up. When he forces himself to speak again, his voice is a lot less steady than before.

“But what—“ the tears return and they’ve him choking up so he tries to swallow them away, digging his fingers into Harry’s skin, “what if me not being straight... What if that means that I’ve fallen for you?”

Harry’s arms tighten even further around him, and Louis is pretty sure Harry can feel his heart trying to beat its way out of his chest, but then Harry kisses his neck, right next to where the soft cotton of his shirt begins.

“Then that’s okay too,” Harry whispers in his ear. “I’ve fallen for you too.”

Louis isn’t sure if he gasps with relief or does something equally embarrassing, but it’s within moments that he’s twisting around in Harry’s arms so he can see him.

He finds Harry blushing but smiling, nodding as he pulls Louis back in.

Their next kiss feels a little (a lot) like finally breathing freely again.

-

They keep it secret for a couple of days after they agree that they’ll call each other _boyfriends_ from now on. It still feels a little foreign to Louis, to use that word to identify his partner with, but he only has to look at Harry to know that it’s right.

Then Harry tells Louis he wants to phone Anne the next day, and Louis tells him, “That’s okay. I think I’m ready for that.” And he is; he doesn’t mind Anne knowing—especially not because she likely won’t be surprised. Not if his own mum wasn’t, either.

Anne picks up after the second ring and her first question is, “Did you put me on speaker phone?”

“Yeah,” Harry smiles. “Louis is here with me.”

“Of course he is,” Anne tells them, and if she’s meant to sound exasperated, the fondness still seeps through.

“Hi Anne,” Louis tells her. “How are you?”

“I’m good, hi boys. Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Harry takes in a deep breath as he looks at Louis. “We’re very good, mum. Um—“

“If you’ve got something to say, please don’t keep me on the edge of my seat,” Anne laughs.

“Okay, no worries.” Harry smiles at Louis, squeezes his arm and Louis nods. Harry can definitely say it. “We—me and Louis, we’re dating.”

It’s quiet on the other edge of the line before Anne squeals. “I knew it! Oh, that’s so wonderful, boys! I’m so happy! When Jay phoned me about what Louis told her, I _knew_!” Louis hides his blush in the crook of Harry’s neck, because he did mention telling his mum something important but not that it was _this_ , specifically.

“I’m going to get you to tell me what you said to your mum later,” Harry whispers in Louis’ ear, his free hand curled around Louis’ waist while the other holds up the phone.

“I’m so happy for you,” Anne tells them. “Congratulations. And Louis, I’m very glad that you are my son in law.”

“We’re not married yet, mum,” Harry laughs, and Louis smirks before pressing a quick kiss to his cheek. _Yet_ , Harry’s been thinking about it too. “Listen, we’ve to head off now but I’ll text you later. Just wanted to let you know in person, not by text.”

“Sure, baby,” Anne laughs. “Have a good day.”

“I will,” Harry tells her. “I will. You too.”

“I love you, Harry. And you too, Lou.”

“Love you too, mum,” Harry replies, “and I’m sure Louis does as well.”

When he hangs up the phone, Harry shakes his head and laughs at Louis. “You told your mum about your feelings for me first?”

“She’s the one who told me that I should tell you, actually,” Louis mumbles. “She’s my _mum_ , of course I went to her first!”

“Sure, babe,” Harry’s still laughing as he strokes Louis’ fringe from his forehead and presses a kiss there.

“Are you sure this is a healthy relationship?” he snorts. “Because now _you_ are acting like you’re my mum, not my boyfriend.”

“I can be both,” Harry smirks, sitting himself in Louis’ lap.

“That’s kind of kinky, innit?” Louis mutters between kisses. “Not sure if I’m into that.”

“You’re into talking about food during sex,” Harry groans as he grinds their crotches together. “This is far less strange, I’m sure.”

“Not sure that sausage was—food,” Louis gasps, quick to push Harry’s shirt off so he can kiss his chest, touch his body, feel how close they can get.

Harry snorts, shaking his head even as Louis pushes his hands up his shirt for maximal contact.

-

Louis comes out to the rest of the boys the next week, a little over ten months after Harry did.

It’s terrifying, of course, but because he doesn’t want them to think it’s a huge thing, Louis has planned to do it during one of their lads nights in. He knows now that Harry had planned it as well, obsessing over when to tell them for weeks. Louis honestly still feels bad about the way he’d responded.

“Don’t worry,” Harry tells him right before they go into Liam’s hotel room, where they’ve got the Playstation set up.

He guides Louis in with a hand on his lower back, warm and comforting, and the other three boys all look up. Liam and Zayn are side-by-side on the bed, Liam with a controller in his hand while Zayn’s got one of his comic books. Niall’s sprawled on the floor next to the bed with the other controller, and Louis knows for sure that Liam kicked him off the bed so there won’t be crumbs between the sheets.

Liam pauses the game a couple of seconds after noticing Louis, which is also the exact moment Louis realises that his plan of a casual coming-out has just been upended. He’s been sabotaged by people he thought were on his team. Or maybe by Harry, whose hand is still on his back.

“Sooo,” he starts, clearing his throat. “I have something to tell you.”

“Do you now,” Zayn smirks at him, and Louis rolls with his eyes.

“Yes, Zayn, I do. Now be quiet because I’m talking.” Zayn snickers and Niall lets out a nervous laugh, while Liam just stares at him and Harry, making Louis feel absolutely unnerved.

Harry’s hand is still on his back and he knows he’s leaning into it, his sole source of comfort right now. Louis makes a mental note that he’ll have to buy Harry a present or do something nice later. Have the best sex yet with him, maybe, something, _anything_ that will show his boy exactly how much Louis regrets acting the way he did.

When he’s quiet for too long, Harry nudges him lightly.

“Okay, so,” he takes a deep breath, closing his eyes because it’s still a little more scary than he’d imagined. “I’m not—I’m, so.” He needs another deep breath to do this, _God, oh God_. “Uh, me and Harry are dating.”

“I knew it,” Zayn grins, and then Liam slaps Zayn’s arm.

“Then why didn’t you believe me when I told you that I heard Haz and Lou have sex in the room next to yours the other day!” Liam’s looking a little tortured as he’s saying it, as if he’d rather not be talking about the sex life of his mates—which Louis kind of understands, really.

“When was this?” Harry interrupts them when they start fussing, while Niall’s just staring at Louis and Harry with a wide grin that’s quick to loosen the knot in Louis’ chest.

“Monday,” Liam tells them, still glaring at Zayn as he shuffles away from him even if he stays on the bed.

Louis watches Harry smirk, and oh, his boy is _filthy_. “You definitely heard us, Liam. But how are you so certain we couldn’t hear you and Zayn snog?”

Zayn goes red and Louis raises his eyebrows at Harry. Harry made it up, going by Liam’s frown and confused demeanour and how Harry would _never_ out his mates like that but—Zayn’s gone _beet_ _red_. Oh, _jackpot_. Louis is going to go after Zayn for this later on; he’s absolutely going to make _sure_ of that.

“Lads, I’m so happy for you,” Niall ignores Zayn as he makes grabby hands at Louis and Harry. “C’mere, I want to cuddle the dream team.”

Louis smirks as he dives down on top Niall and indulges him for a while, Harry leaving after the initial hug to join the other boys on the bed.

And it’s—it’s honestly not so bad. Better than that, honestly—it feels comfortable and nice, and Zayn doesn’t complain too much when Louis leans in to press a kiss to Harry’s mouth (Liam and Niall coo at them though, which may be worse).

He counts himself lucky.

Then he orders in sausage rolls, and when Niall asks him why that exactly, Louis casually says, “Because it’s a sausage in a bun, you know? Bum? Bun?”

Niall laughs hard enough that he goes red, and Harry simply smirks at Louis with a raised brow.

-

 “Did you mean it when you said you’d finger me properly?” he whispers to Harry the next evening.

They’re in the hotel’s restaurant, eating from the buffet with the other boys. The food looks fantastic, but Louis isn’t particularly interested in it right now.

Harry takes in a sharp breath, and before he replies he takes a quick look at the other boys. None of them are paying attention to the two of them, with Niall shouting at Liam about the game of Fifa that Liam never unpaused while Zayn snickers into his food.

“Very sure,” he says then. “You want that, then?”

Louis nods, biting down on his lip as he remembers last time. He can feel his cock twitch in his trousers when Harry places his hand on Louis’ thigh, squeezing gently in a way that promises _more_.

-

When they finally get to Louis’ room, Louis grabs Harry’s arm and drags him straight over to the bed. He refuses to feel embarrassed by his own desperation when Harry giggles and presses up against him from behind to ask, “Did you think about it this much, then?”

Louis wants to reply, but then Harry’s hand slides between his legs before cupping his bum, his fingers rubbing over Louis’ crack. Even just feeling Harry’s hand through his jeans is hot; there’s no room for embarrassment, and the situation is so charged with sheer sexual tension that he pushes back against the pressure and simply says, “Yeah.”

“That’s hot,” Harry whispers. His voice has gone hoarse and he takes away his hand so he can press his erection against Louis’ bum. “So fucking hot, Lou.”

He helps Louis strip, unbuttoning his jeans for him before he slips in his hand and palms Louis’ stiffy through his boxers. Then he pulls the jeans down and Louis feels a little shaky as he ends up naked in front of Harry while Harry’s still dressed.

“Where’s your lube?” Harry asks him as he gets to undressing as well. He is all soft smiles and big eyes as he takes in Louis’ body, almost tripping over his own trousers.

“Under my pillow,” Louis tells him, crawling up on the bed and lying down. He’s a little nervous, the situation pretty daunting all of a sudden. After all, they’ve never done anything like this before—not just the actual-actual sex, but also the getting completely naked for the purpose of sex without being caught up in the heat of the moment already.

He locates the tube of lube easily, setting it down on the bedside table for when they’re going to use it.

“I’m gonna get you warmed up first,” Harry tells him, settling between Louis’ legs. He strokes his warm hands up and down Louis’ thighs, until Louis is shivering and squirming into the touch. Then he moves his hands to Louis’ belly before lying down on top of him, naked and warm and wonderful.

“If you’re nervous, we don’t have to do it,” he whispers into Louis’ mouth before kissing him. “We can do it the other way around, too.”

Louis shakes his head. “Later, yeah? I just—want to feel you—“ and then Harry’s hand is grabbing his bum while he thrusts their cocks together. “Just want to feel you properly today.” He remembers that time he got off so hard to Harry pushing just the tip of his finger inside of him. He wants more, and he wants it now.

“Feel me, hm?” Harry smiles. “I’m sure I can do that.”

Louis nods, and then Harry moves to sit up again. “Can you pass me the lube?”

Louis all but throws it at him, giggling a little when the bottle slips from Harry’s hands and lands on the bed. “Still not a star at hand-eye coordination, I see,” he jokes.

“I’ll show you coordination,” Harry pokes out his tongue and clicks the cap open before pouring some on his fingers. Louis watches him curiously—he’s thought about doing this to himself a couple of times, but he really just wants Harry to be the first.

“Have you done this to yourself?” he asks Harry, just to take his mind off things, and Harry instantly flushes.

“Yeah,” he mutters, face half-hidden by his curls as he stares down at Louis’ cock.

“Thought about me doing this to you?” Louis lowers his voice a little, wiggling his hips so his cock bounces a bit.

Harry doesn’t reply instantly. Instead, he grabs Louis’ leg and puts his ankle on his shoulder, pressing a kiss to the soft skin. It feels weird to be manhandled in this sense, something Louis’s done to girls before but has never had someone do it to him.

“I’ve thought about doing just about everything with you, Louis,” Harry responds.

He’s still staring at Louis when his finger pushes against Louis’ hole. It’s cold from the lube and definitely feels different from the last time. Harry’s finger slips in easily, going deep right away. Louis’ breath hitches as he focuses on the feeling and it’s—it’s definitely not bad, even if he doesn’t think it’s enough to climax from.

“You okay?” Harry asks him.

“I’m perfect,” Louis tells him, and it’s not a lie. He’d just really like a hand on his cock right now, but since Harry’s a bit busy himself, he curls his own fingers around his erection.

Harry moves his finger in an out slowly until Louis barely feels it anymore. As if he can read his mind, Harry adds the second finger.

“Still good?” he asks Louis, and when he nods Harry pushes his fingers in as deep as they go.

It makes Louis gasps, his hips twitching away even if it doesn’t make Harry withdraw. Instead Harry keeps going at it, dropping Louis’ leg and moving to lie down beside Louis again, his fingers still up Louis’ bum. His cock presses against Louis’ thigh and it’s an awkward angle for a kiss but they manage.

When Harry finds his prostate, Louis knows right away. It’s like he goes from turned on to almost coming then and there, the feeling spreading through his lower body right away.

Harry clearly notices it too, if the smirk on his face is anything to go by, and Louis wants to thwack him around the face (or maybe kiss him). He doesn’t, though, because Harry keeps hitting the spot over and over again until Louis is rocking into the sensation.

“That feels good?” Harry whispers, waiting for Louis’ nod before gently biting down on one of his nipples.

Louis has to take his hand off his cock because he’s pretty sure he’d shoot off right away if he kept it there, and drags Harry into another kiss.

“More?” Harry asks him, and Louis isn’t sure, because this feels so good already.

“Feels so good, Hazza,” he groans, pushing his hips back down on Harry’s fingers. “Could come now.”

“Do you want to, then?” Harry asks him. “Come on my fingers?”

And Louis _wants_ to, he really does. It’s just—he also wants to know what it’s like to have Harry _inside_ of him because that’s the thought that has been getting him off lately, an idea he’s obsessed with. He doesn’t voice it though, so Harry keeps going until Louis has to stop him because he’s honestly _so close_.

“No?” Harry asks.

“I want you to fuck me,” Louis knows he’s panting and he ignores the flush in his cheek as he talks to Harry. “So like. Get on with it.”

“Bossy,” Harry snickers. “D’you have a condom? And, like, not one that you’ve kept in your wallet for years ‘cos you know that might get a girl pregnant.”

Louis rolls his eyes as he says, “I’m not bloody Rizzo”, and tosses a strip at Harry’s face. It doesn’t hit him hard because he’s still pressed up against Louis, rutting against his thigh. Harry’s left his fingers in Louis but even now that the stimulation of his prostate is gone he can kind of feel the emptiness that has him wanting more.

“I’ll prep you properly first,” Harry tells him. “Are you ready for the third finger?”

Louis nods, and Harry needs to sit up again to locate the bottle of lube. Louis can feel the cold of the gel smear the insides of his thighs but the third finger slides in easily and he can feel Harry wriggle in his pinky as well nearly right away.

“Jesus,” he groans, the stretch a bit uncomfortable even if it’s not painful by any means.

“Still okay?” Harry checks and Louis nods because he is definitely _okay_ , and he definitely wants what he felt before except on Harry’s cock, not his fingers.

“I’m very okay, Harry,” he says eventually, reaching down to curl his fingers around Harry’s wrist to get him to stop moving. “I really, absolutely am. Just want my boy to fuck me, yeah?”

It looks like all of Harry’s breath leaves him at once when Louis says that and it makes him feel a little giddy, the look on Harry’s face that’s all-telling.

He doesn’t hesitate in pulling out his fingers though, all three at once leaving Louis spreading his legs as far as they can go just because he wants more. Harry’s biting on his lower lip as he rolls on the condom, and it’s not for the first time that Louis is thinking about how _big_ Harry is.

Harry notices, because when he settles between Louis’ legs (and that’s an unspoken deal they apparently made, facing each other) he strokes his clean hand through Louis’ hair and tells him, “It’s going to be fine, it’ll fit. Just relax for me.”

Louis does as he’s told, when Harry presses his cock against his hole. It goes in surprisingly easily, without the pain he’s read about online, filling him up far more than Harry’s fingers did.

“Oh fucking hell,” he mutters before Harry smirks and starts to move.

It’s—it’s not as good as the fingers were when they pressed against his prostate, honestly, and he thinks about telling Harry, but the look on his boyfriend’s face stops him from doing so. Harry looks like he’s in heaven, staring down at Louis with a dumb smile on his face as he fucks him slowly.

Except—and it hits Louis like a freight train, even if he feels a little embarrassed by the late realisation—it’s not fucking, is it? It definitely doesn’t feel like he should call it that. Harry’s taking care of him and he’s taking care of Harry and—

“Can’t believe you’re making love to me,” Louis mentions, and Harry giggles, stilling for a moment and hiding his face against Louis’ neck.

“You feel so good,” he mutters against Louis’ damp skin, pressing quick kisses to his jaw. “Love the way you make me feel.”

“I love the way you make me feel too, lovely,” Louis whispers back, and then Harry is moving again.

Something’s different this time and it only takes Louis seconds to figure out what—they’ve shifted a little, Harry’s cock finally brushing along the right spot as he thrusts in and back out.

“Oh god,” he moans when Harry snaps his hips forward a little faster, the feeling jolting through his body as he scrambles for purchase on the sheets. “Right there, Haz, _fuck_ yes.”

“Yeah?” Harry groans, lifting Louis’ leg so it rests against the inside of his elbow. The next push is much harder, spot on, making Louis moan wordlessly as the bed rocks against the wall. Harry is quick to set a rhythm, listening to Louis’ as he starts to plea for _more, harder, please_.

Already having been on edge once tonight, Louis can feel himself hurtling towards his climax, his head clouding as he lets Harry fuck him senseless. The only thing he can think of doing is to wrap his hand around his cock again, dragging Harry down for a deep kiss right before his hips start pushing forward and he comes between their bellies.

He can feel the way he clenches around Harry; hears the way it makes Harry’s breath stutter and his rhythm go off until he finally pushes in deep, coming with his eyes closed and his mouth opened as he groans. He looks gorgeous like this, Louis thinks, his cheeks flushed and his hair a sweaty mess.

After that he pulls out and half-collapses on top of Louis, and Louis can’t stop himself from giggling.

“Harry,” he wheezes, prodding at his shoulder. “Are you all right? Did I kill you? Was I that good?”

“Shut up,” Harry mumbles, cheek pressed to Louis’ chest. “I did all the work.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, and you’re complaining now?” Louis smirks. “C’mon, then. I’ll clean you up.”

He does wince a little when he gets up. He can definitely feel the effect on his bum and his thigh muscles, but Harry just stares after him when he goes into the bathroom. He’s still staring when Louis exits with a washcloth, but at least the condom’s tied up and on the floor beside the bed.

“I’m not cleaning that up, just so you know,” he tells Harry.

“Heeyy. You’re the one still standing,” Harry protests slowly, blinking tiredly. “And we can’t leave it there.”

“And I’m not going to touch the inside of my own arse,” Louis mutters. “Kind of gross, innit?”

“Excuse me,” Harry sits up with a little more vigour than Louis had expected, even if he still looks quite sleepy. “Does that mean you will never put your fingers up _my_ bum?”

“Well, that depends. Would you like my fingers up your bum then?” Louis smirks. He’s just teasing by now but there are few things in life he likes better than watching Harry get worked up.

“Probably, yeah,” Harry murmurs, leaning in to grab the cloth from Louis’ hands. “We’ll put the condom away tomorrow, all right? Want to sleep.”

“Sure,” Louis snorts, because he’s pretty sure they’ll forget but—but it’s all right, isn’t it?

Harry is yawning so Louis helps him get under the sheets, smirking the entire time as Harry keeps trying to grab a hold of him. Instead he goes back into the bathroom (taking the condom, because he can definitely be a little nice for his boyfriend) and fills two glasses with water to put by the bed.

Then he snuggles in with Harry, curled around him and falling asleep easily as he listens to Harry’s breathing even out.

-

Louis and Harry walk brazenly into the office with their fingers entwined.

It’s how management finds out, their shocked faces quickly turning into worried frowns, and then into phone calls, and then into Simon coming to pay them a visit.

It sucks, to be under restriction in public, but there’s nothing that Modest can do when Harry pulls Louis in for a pre-show kiss in their dressing room, or when they fall asleep entwined with each other in what should be a single-person hotel room.

Besides. There are few things that amuse Louis more than the fury in the PR lady’s eyes when he’s supposed to be out with Eleanor, but won’t stop texting Harry instead.

Who ever knew that sausages could be quite so amusing.

 

[end]

**Author's Note:**

> ([Tumblr](http://casualtornado.tumblr.com))


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